


Pedal Faster

by Julietlovee



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-30
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2018-02-11 00:40:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 60,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2046453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Julietlovee/pseuds/Julietlovee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean Kirstein and his mother own the only car repair shop in the entire city of Trost, called "City-Bound". It's got a few employees, including Jean's best friend whose sister is dying, the couple that should have gotten together a long time ago, and the blonde kid that doesn't know shit about cars. Everything is average, until a freckled bicycle messenger starts making City-Bound a regular stop, always asking for a new bike chain, always asking for Jean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. City-Bound

**Author's Note:**

> Okay I truly love this story line, so I'd appreciate it if any criticism heading my way was about grammar or construction or whatever.....but i really do love criticism...ok plus this is my first on this site so pleas be gentle to my lovely characters, I spend time on them :(

 

The oil was starting to get underneath his fingernails, and Jean gritted his teeth. It wasn't even nine o'clock yet, but he was going to smell like gasoline anyways, so what's the big deal about having black fingers? His mother was going to be disgusted though. Jacklyn Kirstein may be running this grubby business, but she refused to go anywhere near the actual garage. She much preferred to stay in the office area, and let Jean and the other employees handle the dirty work.

Jean rubbed his wrist against his forehead, before lying back down on the creeper and rolling himself under his customer's Buick. He looked up into the interior and frowned. "Lady," he called out. He heard the shuffling of heels and a sniffle, and fought the urge to roll his eyes. Realizing she couldn't see him though, he complied and gave the vehicle above him a sassy stare. "Your motor is a mess. Your center pin is loose, because the pin of your center pin is loose, and your feedback lever is rusted so badly, it's crusting into my eyes. I'm not entirely sure how you even got this car to my shop, because it should have been falling apart within twenty feet of you driving it."

"Oh, dear," he heard another sniffle. How god damn typical. "My husband's going to be so upset with me. He's been gone for a while, you see, business trip-"

"Right, of course," Jean interrupted, rolling back out and sitting up, arching his back and closing his eyes. Upon opening them, a woman with blonde hair and blinding red lips was staring down at him. He flinched back in surprise.

"You can fix it, can't you?" She practically shouted at him. Jesus, why was she standing so close to him? "You're the best in town!"

"Ma'am, I'm the only one in town." Jean stood up, and pointed to the door leading to the main lobby area, leading to his mother. "Why don't you go in there and repeat what I told you to my boss at the counter. She'll figure everything out with you. I can't start repairing your car until all the contracts are filled out."

* * *

 

 Jean Kirstein is nineteen years old, and had been surround by cars for longer than that. His father had met his mother at a car showing down in the valley, and admired her from a far as she tossed between a 1967 Impala and a 1980 Chevy. He had fallen in love with her right then and there, because a woman who appreciated cars was the woman for him. His mother and father bought the enormous building on the east side of Trost, and turned it into a repair shop, naming it "City-Bound", while his mother was three months pregnant with Jean. Business had been at a constant, controlled level. Never enough to brag about, but never less than they needed.  Jacklyn would stay in the office and handle all the boring paper work, because even though she loved a classy vehicle she couldn't stand the smell of black oil. His father spent all day in the garage, always under some sort of damaged car. As soon as he was allowed, Jean entered the door to the garage and then had to be dragged out. He spent countless afternoons and evenings with his father, watching and listening as he dissected and repaired car after car after car. Often he would help him, if handing over the crank when asked was considered helping, but it was more than little four year old Jean could ask for.  

His father was struck down in his prime by a mugger with a handgun, looking only for the paper in his wallet, but a single shot to the head was all it took for Jean and Jacklyn's world to come crashing down. Jean had been twelve at the time, and didn't shed a tear, but instead broke his hand whilst punching his bedroom wall in frustration.  He was more engulfed in anger, not angst, get it right, because _god dammit it wasn't fair_. 

Over time though, the death of his father settled down comfortably on his shoulders, and he was able to stand up straight without picturing his father standing next to him, a foot taller, a foot stronger. In the single picture Jacklyn kept tucked inside her bedside table, Matthew Kirstein was smiling down at his two-year-old son, pride shining across his face. Jean went to great lengths to avoid that photo, but often caught his mother looking at it with wet eyes when she thought no one was watching.

After his father's death, Jackyln took hold of City-Bound with her own two hands. She allowed only her closest friend, a man by the name of Erwin Smith, to help her stay steady as she balanced the company and her growing son. Jean officially entered the work area as a paid employee after middle school, repairing his first car on his own at fourteen. He was given a forty-dollar tip, and gave it back to the woman in confusion. Fixing cars had always been a hobby to him, not a job.  His love for vehicles was incredible, and other workers had no problem letting Jean repair cars assigned to them, knowing he'd get it done faster and better. Besides, any tip he received always went back to the customer, no matter how well he'd repaired the car, no matter how smooth it ran after he'd gotten his hands dirty fixing it. Money didn't matter to Jean. He never felt more at home than he did lying on a creeper, the smell of gasoline filling his nostrils. 

* * *

 

An hour before his lunch break started, Door #5 started to open.

"What the hell...?" Jean mumbled. He stood from his crouched position next to the wheel of a bright yellow pickup truck. He looked around. Connie was the only other employee on duty, but he was nowhere to be seen. Jean realized Door #1 and #2 were open, and #3 and #4 were not. Jean and Connie were supposed to be told when a new car was coming into the garage, so that they could open the next available door in preparation. Why was the last door being opened?

"HEY!" Jean yelled, hoping to be heard over the roar of metal. "HEY!"

The door stopped, only about five feet off the ground. Jean dropped the lever he'd been using, and started making his way over. Halfway there, a familiar brown head popped out from underneath the door, and the rest of the body started sliding through. It was wearing the same dark blue t-shirt Jean had on, but cleaner, as it hadn’t spent all morning underneath the interior of a Mercedes (like Jean had). As the body worked its way through the opening, green-y blue eyes looked up at Jean. He groaned.

"Yeager!" Jean spat, now stomping over to his co-worker. "Why don't you ever use the fucking door?" Once Eren was completely in the garage, though he still lied on the dusty floor, Jean smacked the control button on the wall, turning the arrow to the down position. Door #5 started to close. After it was shut, Jean tapped his foot on the floor near the head of Eren Yeager, the most difficult child Jean had ever been forced to encounter. It wasn't fair to call him a child, considering he was two months older than Jean, but his attitude and overall personality made it difficult to address him as anything but.

"You know I always like to make an entrance, Jean." Eren said, saluting him from his place on the ground. Slowly, he started to get up. Jean waited patiently, and once Eren stood up straight, giving him a moment to brush himself off slightly, he swatted the side of Eren’s brunette head.

"What the hell?" Eren yelped, reaching over to hit Jean back, but he was the slower of the two. Jean was already out of reach and making his way back to his truck. Eren jogged after him.

"You're forty-five minutes late, asshole." Jean said.

Eren nodded. "Mikasa." Eren said simply, staring at the floor. Jean was still frowning, but he nodded back.

Without looking at his friend, he pointed to the red Camry seated in the Door #2 slot. "That was Connie’s, but I think he's gone to lunch. The information's all there." Eren picked up the clipboard hanging off the car lift operator. He scanned it over, before making a grim face and reaching into the tool set to get to work. Jean watched Eren for a second longer before turning back to his own car. Or truck.

Eren Yeager had started working for City-Bound two years ago, when Erwin walked into the lobby with him by the neck, complaining about the kid living in his apartment complex. He begged Jacklyn to give him a job, saying that if Eren had something to put his mind to, he'd stopped being such a rambunctious teenager.

"He'll get his act together, I swear. Jack, please." Jean had seen pure desperation in Erwin's eyes. His mother complied.

Seeing as he and Eren were pretty much the same age, his mother and almost everyone else assumed Jean and the new employee would get only fabulously. They were the farthest thing from right. Jean and Eren hated each other from the start. Jean accused Eren of not knowing anything about cars, and claiming that he didn't know what he was doing. He was going to bankrupt them, Jean was sure of it. And Eren just didn't like the fact that Jean was a foot taller than him and the son of his boss, because that obviously gave him special privileges. They argued constantly, and though they tried to keep it out of the ear and eye of customers, sometimes their stubbornness got the better of them, and City-Bound heard numerous complaints from angered clients. Seeing as City- Bound was the only car repair shop in the city of Trost, it wasn’t like they lost valuable customers, but the threats were menacing and struck cords. Jacklyn had half a mind to fire Eren and ground Jean for a whole year, despite her promise to Erwin. She did not like this new threat to her company and gave both boys the benefit of her thinking. They had sat there on two chairs in the lobby after hours, wincing at each other as Jean's mother paced in front of them and screamed. But when she demanded that Eren give her a reason as to why the hell she should let him keep his job, Eren's barrier suffered a crack.

"My sister is sick. Cancer, and I need this income to help pay for her medical bills." He looked up at Jacklyn with a softness in his eyes that Jean didn’t know he was capable of, and had to look away. "Please don't fire me. I'll stop fighting with Jean. Don't fire me."

So she didn't. That was the day all of Jean's tips stopped going back to his customers, and instead went in Eren's pocket. The day he swallowed his anger and settled for glaring at Eren when he pissed him off instead of shouting. The day he dared to call Eren a friend. Jean had never been good at that kind of stuff, neither was Eren, so they were pretty much the best they were gonna do. And that was that.

Apparently, Eren and Mikasa's parents passed away a few years ago, right before Mikasa got sick. They didn't have a lot of money to pass on to their kids, so Eren had been given the sole responsibility of taking care of  Mikasa and still make it through high school while paying rent all by himself and afford a hospital room for his dying sister. About a year ago, Mikasa had recovered immensely well. She'd left the hospital, moved back in with Eren and even got a job to help with income and the piling bills. But then she dropped down again, and was planted back on pasty white sheets. And while Eren feared he was going to be given her life expectancy, Mikasa was still fighting hard, as Eren had prayed for. Chemo was god damn expensive though. 

It wasn't as if Jean pitied him, which Eren was thankful for. Jean had lost a dad, Eren was losing a sister, nobody was truly happy with the way their life was going. But Jean had his mother, had his job, and kind of had a friend. He was okay with settling with that.

"I heard Dita quit," Eren said then, his voice muffled by the noise of his car lift. Jean waited until the garage was quiet again.

"Yeah, yesterday afternoon. He handed in a two week resignation on Monday, but then told us he was leaving town for good." Jean shook his head. "We haven't had time to find someone to fill his slot." It was quiet for a moment; the only sounds the constant clatter of metal and rumble of a motor.

"I might know someone." Eren said finally.

Jean didn't reply for a moment, focused solely on replacing the disk on the wheel he was working on. He grunted with effort, bracing himself on the tire as he pressed down with all his weight. After the task was completed, he wiped his forehead for the tenth time that morning and stood to face Eren. "I'm not even sure if Mom wants to hire someone. She might just jack up our hours." Eren's eyes widened, and he suddenly looked torn. Jean read his mind; because now he was thinking the same thing he and his mother had discussed the night before. Eren could either help out a friend, or earn more money for Mikasa. Jean tried to help him out, because everyone is selfish for someone else. Jean was selfish for his mother, and Eren was selfish for his sister. They were their only options.

"I don't think we need someone new." He spoke firmly, but avoided Eren's cautious gaze. "We've got Mike and Sasha, and Erwin likes to help out in the garage without pay. Hiring someone new might just be a waste of time." He looked up then, hoping that Eren looked more relived than upset. Eren nodded.

"It's not really that." Jean waited. "He's failing his shop class in school, and he was kinda hoping he could come help out, or even just watch things around here so he might understand cars better. So he might not fail." Jean frowned, which wasn’t hard to do. His long face made it look like he was always frustrated. He huffed softly before addressing the next disk on the left front wheel of the truck.

"Isn't shop class an elective? Like, you only take it for half the year? Does it matter if you fail those kind of classes?"

"It matters to him." Eren said softly.

Jean didn't look up, instead crouching down again. It was quiet for while then. Jean was never able to continue a conversation when he had an unfinished vehicle in front of him. His mind wandered and he would find himself trying out different theories in his head on how he could get the job done easier, but still make the car efficient, still reach the expectations of the awaiting client. He didn’t address Eren again until he’d finished replacing and waxing the disks on all four wheels. By then, Eren was lowering the car lift with the Camry perched on top, slowly getting it closer to the ground. Both of their hands were black to the wrist, and their hair stuck to their foreheads with sweat.

"Yeah, I suppose he can come.” Jean said, as they were making their way to the office to make final reports. Eren looked at him with eyes full of suspicion. He smirked. “Maybe you'll start being on time." Jean received a swift kick to the ass for that one.

They ate lunch in the small office they were supposed to write reports in, but mostly Eren and Jean used the space to take naps if business was slow for the day. Jean gobbled down both slices of his cold pizza before asking Eren who this kid was.

“I know I said yes, but if you bring in someone and suddenly all my screwdrivers are missing we’re going to have a serious problem.”

Eren grinned. “Armin’s my neighbor. He and his grandfather moved into the apartment next to ours last year. He’s a good kid.”

“And he’s that intent on not failing a class that he wants to come and shadow?” Jean questioned, diving into the pretzel bag he’d also packed for lunch.

“Apparently so. Armin’s really good in school. Never been amazing at sports, but he’s got a sturdy brain in his head.” Eren looked down. “Under that blonde mop of his,” he mumbled, but Jean ignored the last comment. “Are you sure your mom is going to be okay with it?” Jean nodded.

“Who knows? Maybe your buddy will recommend the shop to the rest of his class and we might get more customers.”

Eren scoffed. “As if we need them.”

“As if they wouldn’t be welcomed.”

The rest of the day was normal. Connie left, and Sasha filled his spot. Sasha had been working at City-Bound for six months, the most recent employee Jacklyn had hired. She had come in looking for a job after Jean had basically built her father a new motor for his Jeep Wrangler. While she was tall and beautiful and so obviously in love with Connie, she annoyed both Jean and Eren with her loud mouth and high energy. She was good with cars though, and finished both of her appointments that day with clean fingers.

Eren looked on with jealousy. Jean knew he probably was itching to leave so he could get back to his sister. He felt the familiar pang of guilt and told Eren to leave, that he could finish fixing the motor he was working on for him. Eren used to argue with him whenever Jean offered to take over his jobs, saying that he had to earn his keep, stay on his boss’s good side; but recently, he’d just nodded curtly and left. Today was no different.

Two hours later, Jacklyn was calling him. She couldn't even open the door to the garage, she was so afraid of the mess she would find. He pulled his cell out of his pocket and pressed accept. "Mom?"

“Sweets, I’ve got dinner on the table. If you plan on eating in the garage, get your plate yourself.” He smiled. He hadn't talked to her all day. 

“I’m just cleaning up. I’ll be there after I wash the floor.”

“Don’t be foolish.” Jacklyn scolded him, her voice static-y though the phone. “That oil's not coming out for twenty years. Get your ass upstairs.” She hung up before Jean could protest. He sighed, internally grateful but still feeling as though he could have gotten more done today. Then again, he felt like that every day. It was when he was about to close the last door open, Door #1, that Jean saw him.

Or really, the blur of tan skin and a lime green shirt. The wheels on the bike were moving so fast, the boy seemed to be flying down the street, elevated just slightly off the ground. He was riding down the middle of the road, and for a second Jean was sure he was about to witness an accident, that an oncoming car was going to smash into the kid. But then the fear vanished, because the boy was turning right, and heading for Jean. At first Jean was confused, but then he realized the boy was literally going to run him over if he didn’t move.

Jumping back with a yelp, he was narrowly missed as the boy raced into the garage, before spinning his bike around and staring at Jean. His forehead and arms glistened with sweat. He panted heavily, and his eyes widened like dinner plates at Jean, who was trying to gather his footing after almost being trampled.

After steadying himself, Jean targeted the boy with his eyes and shot the deadliest daggers he could muster. His heart pounded madly in his chest, and he resisted the urge to hold his hand over it as he tried catching his breath. But he only sparred himself a minute of calm breathing before beginning to shout.

“What the everloving fuck do you think you are doing?” Jean demanded as he took long, angry strides over to the mystery boy, lime green shirt darkened under the pits. His chest heaved with an adrenaline rush that Jean could relate to. His eyes grew bigger, fear written in them. Jean could feel the heat of his own tomato red face, and the boy seemed to understand that his actions had been wrong, very wrong.

“Um, well-“

“Get the fuck outta my shop!” Jean screamed. Fury dominated over every other emotion in his mind, not even thinking about what the hell the boy might want. And while Jean must have looked absolutely terrifying, the boy didn’t flinch. He put the brake down on his bike, hoped off and held his hands out.

“Wait! Wait, please, I need your help!” His brown hair flopped in his face, and he brushed it aside quickly, trying to keep his gaze on Jean.

“With what?” Jean yelled, still walking over to him, but his voice had lowered in volume. The boy took this as an invitation to continue.

“Imverysorrybutmybikeisbrokenandmybossisgonnakill—“

“Jesus fucking, slow DOWN!” The boy heaved a heavy sigh, his eyes closing in the process, and when they opened, he looked at Jean pleadingly.

“My bike’s broken. And I’ve got to deliver this in two minutes or else I’ll be fired.” He didn’t specify what exactly he had to deliver, but then Jean noticed the black backpack straps on either side of the boy’s shoulders, and gathered that it must have something to do with that. Jean was now more confused than angry. He still felt an annoyed throbbing in the back of his head, but he tried ignoring it for the sake of the poor bastard standing in front of him.

The boy was his height, maybe an inch taller. His tannish skin did little to hide the freckles scattered across the boy’s cheeks and nose. With mild interest, Jean noticed how the freckles didn’t stop there; they ran all over his arms, reaching to the back of his hands. He could be considered skinny standing next to Jean, but calling him a twig like Connie would have been out of proportion. His large brown eyes stared at Jean with too much hope in them for Jean to start yelling at him again, though he still really wanted to. He also really wanted to pick up the bike and throw it out of his garage, but he could practically feel the swat he would surely receive if his mother ever caught him completely such an act.

Realizing he hadn’t spoken for a while, and the boy was looking at Jean with an impatient but optimistic expression, Jean turned his attention to him.

"Look around dude, I fix cars, not bikes. Besides,” Jean pointed at the black bike, with curved handles like a ram and a water bottle holder in between the two bars, though it was empty at the moment. “It looks fine. You were riding it a second ago.” The boy shook his head sadly, but still held a panicked expression...somehow...how the hell did he accomplish that? Jean wondered.

“No,” he said, bending down next to his two-wheeled vehicle. Jean hesitated, before crouching down next to him. Upon closer inspection, he spotted the cause of the boy’s worries. The small chain connecting the wheels, usually located on the spinning pulley, was loose, falling off the side. The boy looked at it with a face full of sorrow. He looked absolutely deflated, as though the bike was completely damaged beyond repair. “The chain—“

“Is that all?” Jean interrupted him, not even attempting to hold back his laughter. It burst out of him in hefty spurts, and he almost toppled over. The boy's mouth dropped.

"Well, yeah!" He exclaimed. "It makes this sound and it's hard to pedal--"

"Jesus man, for someone who rides as fast as you do, you don't know how to put the chain back into place?"  Jean chuckled. Reaching out, he grabbed the small chain and lifted it, placing it back into the row with the pulley. His fingers slipped with grease and the small amount of oil located on the chain. He stood, and kicked the bike stand back, before pushing down on one of the pedals. The wheels moved with ease, silent except for the soft whistle of the wheels catching wind. They didn't chunk or clang like the boy had been expecting, and suddenly his face broke out in a beaming smile. 

"Thanks!" he shouted, ripping the bike away from Jean, who was so startled that he fell back a step. The boy didn't even look at Jean again as he pedaled out of the garage with lighting speed, out of Jean's sight in less than two seconds. 

"Your welcome." Jean muttered to his now empty garage. He frowned, suddenly unnerved by the encounter, because he didn't even know the boy's name. Not that he was really given time. Either way, Jean hastily shut Door #1 before any more mysterious bike boys could show up.


	2. Home for Summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basically we meet some peeps and we learn some shit on Jean and i'm sorry if i'm super vulgar but i can't imagine some of these characters (in the light that i have personally put them in, I'm not speaking for the whole fandom) without the swearing....so bear with me. Oh and we see a small flash of Marco...just a flash though sorry loves...and Eren's not in this one too much....and we haven't met Armin either.....omg this chapter kinda sucks please stick around for the next one though?

“I’m worried about him.” Jacklyn said, practically slamming down the bowl of salad on the table. Jean spun around, looking at his mother in alarm at her sudden outburst.

 It had been a week since Jean had his encounter with the bike boy, and he hadn’t really given the kid much thought. Honestly, his mind had been on the brand spankin’ new Audi that had been dropped off at the garage a few days ago by a very posh looking gentleman, who informed Jean that if he produced a single scratch on his “Precious” that Jean would be sued and sitting behind bars for the rest of his life. City-Bound had the occasional obsessive owner, vowing that if their car was damaged, lawyers would be called. The closest Jean’s mother had come to wrestling a lawsuit was when Connie dented a 2013 Mustang after he’d tripped on a creeper and slammed into the passenger side door. The customer only retracted his threat after Jean repaired the car for free and threw in a car wash coupon.

 Right now though, his attention flew to his mother as she stepped away from the salad bowl and looked at her son. For a second, Jean wondered if she was actually talking about the bike boy, that she had learned about the meeting and was wondering why he hadn’t come back. But Jean told himself to be rational and he assumed she was talking about Eren.

“I thought Mikasa was doing better.” Jean said, setting down his phone and making his way to the table. He knew that even though his mother had addressed Eren, the only thing concerning him that should cause worry was the well being of his sister. If Eren ever came into the garage looking upset or distracted, it next to never had anything to do with himself, only Mikasa.

“That depends on how you define better.” Jacklyn said, placing silverware and napkins on the table. She beckoned Jean closer and asked him what he wanted to drink. She bent to look into the oven.

“Mom, sit down,” Jean said, taking her shoulder and leading her away. “I’ll get it.”

He didn’t reply to her last comment until they had finished dinner and were starting to clear the table and put dishes away.

“He called in sick again, didn’t he?” Jean asked, looking at her as he wiped the table down with a sponge. She nodded. It was the third time this week Eren had phoned to say he would not be able to come into work. This meant that Connie was going to fill his all day hours tomorrow.

“Said Mikasa was getting another dose of chemo and he needed to be there. I didn’t argue, obviously.” She shook her head then, looking troubled. “He’s running out of vacation days though. Any more and he’ll start doing them without pay.” 

Jean paused. “Can he afford that?” He asked. 

“I don’t know.” Jacklyn answered. “While I want to ask, it really isn’t my business.” 

“Sasha has started putting her tips in his jar.” Jean said, throwing the sponge in the sink and sighing. Something picked at the back of his brain. “We’ve never actually met her, you know.” His mother nodded again.

“And I would like to, to tell the truth. Eren doesn’t talk about her much.”

“Can you blame him?”

“No,” Jacklyn said, heading for her bedroom. “No, I can’t. I would just like to meet her. I’ve only seen one photo.”

“I haven’t seen any.” Jean remarked, peering around the corner at his mother, who was starting to close her door.

“She’s pretty. She doesn’t look that much like Eren, and she’s not smiling.” Jacklyn hesitated. “But she's looking at Eren. And he's smiling.” The door closed.

Jean huffed before making his way to his own bedroom.

City-Bound was a car repair shop below, and a home above. Stairs located behind the office space lead to the living space of Jean and Jacklyn Kirstein. The building itself was three stories, but Jean and his mother avoided the basement area below the garage at all costs because, ew, spiders.

But Jean was always thankful that after a long day he didn’t have to travel far to reach a hot shower and his bed. Often his mother would invite the other employees upstairs for drinks or dinner or something, because Jacklyn Kirstein was a big fan of sharing her home with others.  Jean didn’t like having his coworkers in his house as much, because Sasha had a habit of going into his room and stealing stuff, then leaving it for him in certain places around the garage. The last time it happened he was lifting a Prius the morning after all employees of City-Bound spent the evening sharing drinks and stories, to inspect it’s oil pan, turned around to grab gloves, and when he faced it again his red scarf was tied around the pole.

“Sasha!” He’d screamed. “Stop doing this shit!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” She’d shouted back, Connie snickering beside her. “You left that in your room last night!”

“It _belongs_ in my room! Stop going through my things!” Sasha had only giggled.

* * *

 

The next morning, Jean woke up before his mother, and got dressed before heading down to the garage. The shop would open in a few hours and the first customer was bringing in their vehicle as soon as the doors opened up.

Jean switched the lights in the garage on. He squinted for a minute as his eyes adjusted the new brightness, before rubbing his forehead and stepping down onto the concrete floor. He noticed a puddle of dried oil and groaned inwardly. He didn’t like having the garage a total mess, because he always feared that potential customers would be turned off at how dirty the place was. But then again, it wasn’t like they had anywhere else to go to get their car fixed.

Either way, Jean opened Doors #1 and #2, because the car he’d been working on last night was still in slot #1. The Audi was sitting shiny and pretty, and Jean shivered looking at it. He knew he would never damage a car, he wouldn’t dare and he was always so god damn careful around them, but the threat left by the owner still hung over his head, and he felt a nervous buzz in his chest every time he laid eyes on the vehicle.

Seeing as Eren had the day off, Jean was going to have to deal with Sasha and Connie on his own, and his head felt heavy at the idea.

Two hours later, the “closed” sign was being flipped around, and Jacklyn was adjusting her nameplate that sat on top of her desk in the front lobby. She exchanged a few of the magazines sitting on the coffee tables for more recent ones, and watered the single pot of flowers perched on the windowsill next to the door.

Jean watched her with a smile on his face.

“It doesn’t matter how nice it looks out here, the garage is still fucking disgusting.”

“Don’t swear,” Jacklyn said, settling down in her chair and shooting Jean an ugly glare. He flinched back in mock fear. She rolled her eyes at him and he laughed. With that, the first customer walked in, and soon Jean was heading back into the garage while Jacklyn walked out to help direct the client and his car to Door #2. Connie was leaning up against the row of tires in the garage when Jean walked in. He gave Jean nod before walking over, taking notice of the clipboard in Jean’s hands.

“Is this one mine?” Connie asked him.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” he replied, before nodding. “Yeah, I think so. Says the clutch is messed up.”

Connie groaned, tipping his head back. His almost baldhead made him look more like an oversized baby than a tough guy, which Eren joked was his hope. It was true, with Connie barely reaching 5’ 5’’ and unable to own any true muscle mass, it seemed as though he would always be stuck in his toddler stage.

“He’s still cute though,” Sasha would often mumble hearing Eren and Jean laugh, and they would be forced to roll their eyes, only to receive forceful swats from her.

“You know how much I hate manual cars,” Connie complained now, and Jean scoffed.

“You’re the one that drives a stick shift,” he said, tossing the clipboard with the details at his coworker.

“Yeah, and it’s complete shit!” Connie all but screamed, and Jean looked around wildly, hoping his mother and client weren’t near.

“Jesus, get angry about it,” Jean said. Connie sighed.

“You know how clutch works better than I do,” He protested, staring down at the clipboard. “So does Eren. Where’s he?”

Jean stiffened, but didn’t say anything.

“Hey Jean!” He suddenly heard him name called. He and Connie both turned around to see Sasha walking up, attempting to tie her hair back into a messy bun as she made her way over. All three of them were matching, wearing the same dark blue t-shirt with yellow lettering that read “City- Bound Car Repair” on the front, and lightning bolt on the back, their classic symbol. Jean hated the bolt, as did Sasha, but Connie and Eren thought it was cool.

As Sasha got closer, Connie actually gulped, loud enough for Jean to hear him, and straightened himself as though trying to make himself seem taller. Jean held back his laughter.

“Do you know when my car comes in?” Sasha asked, looking at Jean only. He shook his head.

“Your schedule should be in your office.” He said, frowning. She shook her head.

“Yeah, it’s not there. I figured you must have grabbed it.”                              

“I grabbed it,” Connie spoke up, and Sasha looked at him. He pulled a piece of paper out of his back pocket and opened it. “BMW, eleven o’ clock, needs an oil change and front tires replaced.” Connie glanced up at her, folding the paper back up. “That sound familiar?”

Sasha blushed, Connie smirked, and it was too much of a movie scenario for Jean to deal with so he turned away.

“Give that back.” He heard Sasha demand.

“Not a chance, sweetheart.”

Jean covered his face with both hands and groaned into them, walking as fast as he could away from his two coworkers who, from what he could hear, were now play wrestling for Sasha’s stolen schedule. Christ, he really wished Eren were here. He was in fact saved by his mother, who was directing a large pickup truck into Door #2 slot, and Jean yelled for Connie. He turned in time to see the two separating, Sasha holding her schedule over her head.

“Have fun,” Jean said to Connie, who bumped his shoulder as he walked past him.

Jean spent the rest of that morning underneath the silver Audi, adjusting the oil drain and chipping away at the spark plug. The spark plug made him nervous, but it was one of the main components the owner had complained about, though Jean was still confused as to how the owner even knew there was an issue with it in the first place. The push rod was also not the prettiest device in the car, and Jean wondered how the vehicle could be as new as the client claimed and still have a pretty shitty motor. He had already replaced the timing belt, but Jacklyn had decided not to put that on the bill, despite Jean’s protests.

“Do you know how long it took me to do that? All freaking afternoon!” He’d exclaimed. But Jacklyn just ignored him, and Jean had dropped the issue.

He was about to replace the spark plug completely, when someone kicked his boot.

“What the—“ Jean rolled himself out, preparing to glare at whoever interrupted him. He blinked in the brightness of the garage, not used to it after spending a full thirty minutes on his creeper under the Audi, and he squinted up at the figure in front of him before he could actually make out their face.

But when he did. “Bertoldt!” A nervous laugh. “Reiner!” A booming laugh. So familiar, and Jean scrambled to get to his feet, and was met with a strong arms that lifted him into the air.

“Christ! Put me down Reiner!” Jean yelped. Over Reiner’s shoulder, Bertoldt held a hand over his mouth, trying to conceal his laughter, but failing.

After he was set down, Bertoldt reeled Jean into his arms, but was much more gentle about the hug than his friend. Once Jean was able to back up and look at them both, it felt as though he was flipping through an old photo album. “What are you two doing back in town?” he asked, kicking his creeper to the side and facing them properly. His face felt hot with excitement, and his smile was starting to hurt his face.

Reiner laughed. “Home for the summer, dipshit.” He reached over in an attempt to ruffle Jean’s hair, but was too slow, and Bert laughed as he watched his friends dodge each other in a clumsy battle.

“Come on Reiner, leave him alone. He’s working,” Bert said, throwing Jean an apologetic look. Jean smiled, recognizing that look from the ones he’d received in high school, again after Reiner had done something to cause Bertoldt second hand embarrassment.

“Jean, come have lunch with us.” Reiner said instead of asked, ignoring Bert’s comment. “It’s been too god damn long, we need to talk about shit.”

“What kind of shit?” Jean asked, glancing behind his shoulder at the Audi, his chest tightening when he saw his creeper rolling towards the front bumper. _Please don’t hit that and leave a mark._ It stopped. Slowly. Four inches from the bumper. Jesus.

“We haven’t seen each other in almost a year man,” Bert said, suddenly on board with the whole “Jean ditching work thing”. “We can talk about all kinds of shit.”

Jean walked over to the creeper and pushed it far away from the Audi. He looked back at his high school buddies, and noticed they had slightly changed from graduation day, which was the last time he'd seen them.

Bert, somehow, was taller, towering over Jean and Reiner, and Jean wished all the more that Eren was here to cower in fear. Bertoldt’s dark hair was longer, flopping in his face and his chin had earned some faint stubble. He was wearing a red shirt Jean recognized from school, and was surprised that the thing even fit him anymore. Reiner on the other hand, had obviously been visiting the gym more vigorously in the time Jean had not seen him. He knew that Reiner had gotten a fairly well scholarship for football, but he didn’t think his friend could get any wider. Bertoldt was just a skinny straw standing next to the square frame of Reiner. His blond hair was cut short, and the black shirt he wore clung to him tightly.

“I don’t know guys, I really gotta finish this,” Jean tried, but felt himself weakening, and as soon as Reiner shoved him in the same fashion he did in the varsity locker rooms, Jean cracked and called out to his mother that he was going on his lunch break and would be back in an hour.

Reiner drove them to some pub, Jean really didn’t get the name because Bertoldt had chosen to sit in the backseat with him and they’d been laughing at a man jogging down the street in the shortest fucking shorts, pink, with headphones bigger than Reiner’s fist. They spent the hour with Reiner and Bert drinking beer and Jean sipping water, because he had to go back to work later and it would have not been wise to show up feelin' tipsy. The conversation made up for the fact that Jean couldn’t get wasted with his old friends though.

“What the fuck do you mean you ran around campus in lingerie?” Jean cried. Actually cried, he wiped the tears from his eyes as he rocked with laughter and clamped his hand on Bertoldt’s shoulder, who was also trying hard to compose himself. Reiner shook his head, staring at the ceiling.

“I lost a bet man, I lost a bad bet.”

“And you went through with it?” Jean demanded, slapping the table. Bert rubbed his eyes and nodded, still cackling with laughter.

“He ran around in broad daylight,” Bert said, punching Reiner’s arm. “In broad daylight, didn’t even wait for the sun to set, you dumbass.”

“I wasn’t allowed to, I had to do it when everyone would see me.” Reiner tried defending himself, but Jean only laughed harder.

“Come on, tell him the rest,” Bertoldt said, and Reiner shot him a deadly glare.

“What?” Jean asked, peering through his tears at Reiner. “Come on, out with it, what’s the rest?” Reiner just shook his head again, nudging Bert as if to say, “You tell him, I can’t bear the embarrassment.” Jean looked to Bert.

“He was wearing a SpongeBob Backpack and a traffic cone on his head."

They were asked to leave after Jean and Bert’s laughter caused such a commotion other customers complained about the noise.

Seeing them made Jean's heart flex with memories. He remembered school sports and AP classes and ditching Chemistry because "Fuck that shit, right Bertie?" Reiner's voice would ring. He remembered hating his algebra teacher and loving the chorus instructor, even though he'd never sung a single note in pitch.

Reiner and Bertoldt were friends before they'd met Jean, the only kid who was understanding what their Enlgish teacher was saying at Willgens Middle School. And even though eventually Jean also started failing to understand just what the hell Mr. Dunn was ranting about, the three of them stayed friends. They made it through Middle School, venturing into Willgens High shoulder to shoulder, vowing that even though they might not have any classes together, they would stay friends. No matter how tall Bert was, how buff Reiner was, or how critical Jean could be, they were all afraid of losing each other, just like every other fifteen year old who was walking through the front gates to face the upperclassmen. The trio stuck it out together, holding each other up until the very end when they said their goodbyes with graduating caps on their heads. Bert almost cried in his blue gown, Reiner practically cracked Jean's ribs when he hugged him goodbye, and for the first time Jean wondered if he'd made a mistake choosing the life of a mechanic. But the thought flew his head once he was back in the garage, letting his mother take even more pictures of him, though he glared and rolled his eyes in most of them. 

Bertoldt and Reiner traveled to the same college, Ohio State, not because they wanted to, but because it just seemed to work out that way. They definitely weren't complaining though, and became roommates immediately to avoid dealing with someone new that they might hate forever. Bertoldt went to major in Sports Medicine, and Reiner basically went to play football, not having a clear major, but minoring in Spanish because "Why the fuck not, right Bertie?". They had barely been able to stay in touch with Jean, though they did in fact try. But as their studies piled up and Jean's garage filled with more and more cars, it became increasingly difficult to stay connected to old high school pals. The picture of the three of them, with Riener and Jean on either side of Bert in their varsity football uniforms, Bertoldt laughing at something in between them, sat on Jean's desk. And even though he saw it every morning and night, he'd never felt a strong urge to give either of them a call. The last email he'd received was from Reiner, though it was all about how Bertoldt, how one of his essays about something or another had won some award. Jean, who usually hated clutter in his inbox, did not delete the message, rather moved it to a new folder he'd created called "Keep". He didn't think the three of them would ever meet up again, if he was being perfectly honest, but now that the were, Jean felt like hitting himself on the head for not contacting them sooner. 

“But seriously man,” Reiner said after they sat on the curb outside the pub. “What the hell have you been doing all year? 

“I work in the shop. You know my mom and I own it.”

“No,” Reiner said. “I know that your _mom_ owns it. You weren't tied to that garage. You could've gone to college.”

“I didn’t want any part of that, we've talked about this. And do you really think after listening to all your stories I think I missed out on anything?” Jean said, rubbing his forehead and checking his watch. He had another ten minutes before he really needed to get back.

“It’s not like you were bad in school, Jean.” Bertoldt said. He was sitting on a bench behind Jean and Reiner. His legs were spread open, and Reiner was seated in between them, leaning back against the bench. His head was resting on one of Bert's knees. Jean would have thought the position strange if he wasn’t blaming it on the alcohol they’d consumed. “Didn’t Stanford University ask for your resume?”

Jean shook his head, not at Bertoldt, but rather at the topic. The idea of college had never interested him. He felt so at home, so comfortable, so _right_ at the garage, and the thought had never occurred to him to leave. He’d always assumed that the responsibility of City-Bound would fall to his hands when his mother reasoned he was ready. That had always been his dream, to own City-Bound all by himself, call it his own pride and joy. He may not have been the one to open the business, but god damn it he was going to let it thrive.

“Doesn’t matter," Jean said to his friends. "I didn’t want to pass it around.”

It was quiet for a moment. “You were good at football.” Reiner mumbled, and Jean clenched his fists.

He had been good at football. He’d been good enough to be captain of the varsity team, he’d been good enough to earn MVP in the State, and he’d been good enough to get a call from Stanford requesting a visit. According to any of his friends, he’d been stupid enough to pass on the role of captain to Reiner, brush off the MVP award, and decline the visit to Stanford. He didn’t want any of it.

His mother had argued with him. Fiercely.

“Jean, you are losing this opportunity! How can you let this wash by you?” She had thrown her dishtowel in the sink a year ago, spinning around to face him in the kitchen, her eyes wide and angry. “Do you not understand the scholarship Stanford is offering you? The amount of money we could save?”

“What about the money we’re saving with me not going at all?” Jean protested from his seat at the table. He’d avoided this conversation with her for while, and now that they were finally having it his emotions were running wild.

“That’s not the point!” Jacklyn screeched. “I saved that money for a reason, for _you_! So that you could go to college, not sit in that garage for the rest of your life!”

“Mom,” Jean whispered, or rather whimpered, soundly like an injured puppy dog. “I don’t _want_ to.” He covered his face. “It’s not about leaving the garage, or moving away and starting somewhere new, its not like I’m scared, which I know you’re thinking.” Jacklyn’s mouth had clamped shut. “I love working in the garage. I love working on cars and repairing and fixing and adjusting, Mom, please. Please don’t force me to leave all this behind. This is what I love to do.” _Believe me, please believe me._

The topic was dropped. It was dropped then, and it was being dropped now as Reiner and Bertoldt were punching Jean goodbye.

“Have fun in that oil pit, champ.” Reiner said, giving him an affectionate smile. Jean returned it.

“We’ll come by again soon, got it?” Bert said, actually pulling Jean in for a hug. “It was good to see you.”

Jean nodded, stepping away. “You too. See you around.”

It was as they were pulling away in the parking lot that the green shirt became visible. The boy was pedaling just as fast as he’d been the last time Jean had seen him. But his bike moved easier this time, and Jean felt a small twinge of pride because he’d done that. It was the same twinge he felt after seeing a client with a recently repaired car leave the shop. This twinge was duller, but there all the same.

The boy was on the other side of the street. Jean felt the strange urge to call out to him, to be recognized. But he held back. Of course he held back, he didn't even know the boy's name, what was he meant to do? _Hey, Freckles_! Jean paused. Honestly, that might work. 

He didn't get the chance. Not that he was planning on doing it anyways. But bike boy was already speeding down the street, doing his damn best to avoid other pedestrians as he weaved through the crowd with remarkable skill, Jean had to admit. His brown hair blown out of his face as he sped, and Jean could just make out his squinty eyes as they fought to stay open over the wind pushing in his face. His round, freckled face. The black backpack was still strapped to him, and Jean wondered if he was delivering something to the same person he'd been delivering to when he'd stopped Jean. It seemed to be just as important, as he was traveling with lightning speed down the sidewalk. Jean could barely hear the small gasps of surprise from citizens that didn't see the boy on the bike until he was right in front of them, and Jean had to laugh at the thought that they were reacting with much better control than he had when first confronted by the bicycle delivering boy. The lime green brightness of his shirt stood out to Jean, and he was able to keep his eyes on it as it swerved in and out, dodging people left and right before turning at the corner and disappearing from Jean's sight. He sighed. 

Glancing down at his watch, he started jogging in the direction of City-Bound. His mother wouldn't be too upset that he was late, but he didn't like the thought of leaving that Audi alone in the garage with Connie, master of destruction. With a flash memory of the dented Mustang, Connie's finest work if he did say so himself, Jean turned his jog into a sprint. 


	3. Tool Box

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so this one is full of a lot of dialogue, but I hope that's okay? Either way we get to have MARCO! And ARMIN! In all honesty, I just figured out how I want the entire story to play out, so I'm sorry if chapters like these seem kind of rushed because I'm so fucking excited to get to the good stuff. Ok....that's all i have to say....WAIT AND THANK FOR TO THOSE THAT LEFT COMMENTS THEYRE REALLY SWEET

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, when it comes to time frame in this story....I have no idea. You might just wanna pay attention to like any dates i drop or shit like that

Armin Artlet has so obviously never been in a car repair shop before in all of his life. His eyes stayed the size of dinner plates as he surveyed the garage, even as Eren walked him around and introduced him to Connie and Sasha. He looked as though he was strongly resisting reaching out and touching the car lift in slot #2 when they passed by it on their way to meet Jean. Eren was smiling for the first time in a while, and although he very much wanted Eren to get back to work, Jean instead returned the smile before stretching his hand out to Armin’s.

“Jean Kirstein,” he spoke to Armin with a firm shake. The other boy’s hand felt small and fragile in his grip, and Jean immediately loosened his hold for fear of snapping the hand in two. Armin tore his eyes away from the staff’s ginormous toolbox to look at Jean and smile back. His blonde hair fluffed in his face and he blew it away without letting go of Jean’s hand.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Armin said, before saying, “Eren’s told me a lot about you.” In unison with Jean.  While Eren’s face grew red, Armin and Jean smiled wider at each other, pleased that they at least had one thing in common: the joy of pissing Eren Yeager off.

“Right,” Eren said, rubbing his forehead. “Well, Jean’s mom is my boss and that means Jean basically owns the shop too—“

“Not exactly,” Jean interrupted him, thinking of Reiner’s words from the day before. “My mother owns the company. I’m just a permanent employee, you could say.” His grin grew tight, and Eren frowned at him. How many times had they gotten into arguments, only to end with Jean yelling that he was pretty much Eren’s boss, and he could get him fired. While most of the fighting had stopped after Mikasa’s story got out, Jean still had fun rubbing it in Eren’s face that he had quite a large foothold in the business. And now Jean was denying all of that? Perhaps he just didn't want to embarrass Eren, but that was probably not the case. 

“Have you ever worked with cars?” Jean asked Armin.  

“God no, I’m more of technology fan myself.” Armin answered, looking around the garage once more. “Machines and things like that.”

“Cars are machines.” Jean said, his grin growing tighter. He was gaining the impression that Armin was similar to those who thought cars were dirty pieces of metal, useless in a cit where the bus was a much preferred form of transportation. His eyes started to narrow at Armin. 

The blond fumbled for words for a moment, torn between sounding rude and correcting Jean or agreeing with him. He went for a head nod, his smile tight like Jean’s.  Jean sees right through him, but decides not to comment because the dark look he receives from Eren has him faking a cough and glancing back to his car in slot #1. He has another hour before the owner comes to retrieve it, but Jean had already replaced the tires and hung an air freshener up. He didn’t have anymore appointments for the day. Eren on the other hand, was scheduled for two more vehicles that day, but didn’t look as though he was planning on getting to those. Jean would probably end up doing them, much to his displeasure, as Eren was wildly distracted by the blonde who was now tugging on his sleeve, causing him to laugh. Jean watched as the two walked over to Eren’s car in slot #3, Armin still pulling on the his friend’s shirt.

Armin, Jean notices, is almost as short as Connie, but may or may not be an inch or two taller. He seems smaller in the big black sweatshirt he’s wearing, and Jean vaguely recognizes it from somewhere. Maybe he saw it in a store before. Not important, but Jean wonders how Armin can be wearing that sweatshirt at all, cause it’s fucking 85 degrees outside. Armin’s blonde hair skims his shoulders, light and fair and feather like and Jean suddenly fees the urge to run his fingers through it, but shakes his head and scolds himself. Eren though, doesn’t hold back and reaches a hand up to brush it through Armin’s hair, making the younger boy look at him and smile. _Well shit,_ Jean thinks. _Chemistry, people, we have got some chemistry going on_.

Despite what Jean initially believes is going to happen for the rest of the day (he assumes Eren is going to spend it with Armin in his lap) he is proved wrong. Armin, in fact, learns of Eren’s appointments and forces him to complete them while he watches.

“That’s the whole reason I’m even here!” Armin cries when Eren attempts to argue with him.

“Armin, come on it’s your first day, Jean will happily take my cars.” Jean, at this point, is shot a deathly glare. He returns it, because while he really would take the cars, he doesn’t like how Eren has volunteered him.

“You didn’t come to work yesterday,” Jean says, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Look, Armin just got here—“

“Eren, this is your job.” Armin says, his voice stern. Eren opens his mouth again, but Armin’s shoulders sag down and he looks away from the two City-Bound employees. “I’m going to fail this class.”

That shuts him up.

Armin takes a seat on a lawn chair Jacklyn finds from somewhere in the hall closet, about ten feet from the #3 car slot. He sits cross legged, watching as Eren lifts his first car and reads over his clipboard before going to town on the 2010 BMW. Jean takes it upon himself to stand behind Armin and answer any questions that he has. After a few minutes though, he’s distracted because Armin’s commentary is pure gold.

“He’s going to kill himself.”

“I don’t think he knows what he’s doing.”

“ _Jesus_ , Eren, put that down.”

“Look, I may have a crap grade in my class, but I highly recommend not touching that.”

“Armin!” Eren shouts, frustrated, his hands poised under a rotating pipe. “I’m fine!” He goes for the pipe.

“No, seriously,” Jean cuts in, in between gasps of breath. He’s struggling to breathe through his laughter. “Don’t touch that man, the whole air conditioning compartment will fall apart.”

“Oh,” Eren says, letting his hands drop. “No, yeah, I knew that, I was waiting for Armin to correct me. This is basically his study time.”

“I did, hold on a second—“ Armin tries, but stops when Eren affectionately rolls his eyes in his direction. The rest of time Armin controls himself and only asks Jean for advice.

“What’s the name of the tool he’s using?”

“It’s a gas compression tester.”

“Like a blood pressure socket?”

“Yeah,” Jean says, nodding.

“My god, and what is that?” Armin asks, as Eren pulls out a fairly large contraption. Jean practically giggles.

“It’s just a pair of pinch off pliers.”

“You’re laughing but I don’t see the need for it to be four freaking feet in length.”

“It’s supposed to reach up into the engine and grab shit, it has to be long.”

Armin just shakes his head. Jean thinks it’s weird that Amin finds little interest in this stuff, when he’s so adamant about not failing his class. For that matter, why’s he even taking this class if he doesn’t care about vehicles at all?

“Hey,” Jean starts, but cuts off his own sentence when he sees a bike fly past. He takes a few steps away from Armin, heading for the garage door and the road and the _biker_ when he realizes it’s not freckle face. His skin is too pale and he’s too short and he’s not riding nearly as fast as the other boy was. This is just another kid with a lime green shirt on. And, Jean notices, a black backpack. Jean considers this, connecting dots in his head. “That’s what they must use to carry stuff around.”

“What are you talking about?” Eren asks, holding his head away from the greasy motor for a moment and peering at Jean as though he’s lost his head.

Jean, understanding he said that last bit out loud, grows pink in the face.

“Nothing.” Eren shrugs, turning back to his car. Armin glances at Eren before leveling his gaze on Jean.

“Do you know him?” he asks.

“Know who?” Jean decides to go for the clueless role.

“The biker?” Armin asks, and Eren lifts his head up once more. “You saw him and you like sprinted out there.”

Jean walks over to Eren’s clipboard for something to do and reads it off out loud. “Repairment needed on left and right Valve Plate.” Eren nods. “Are you almost done?”

Eren shoots him a glare. “Listen, not everyone can complete motor repairs in four seconds.” Jean rolls his eyes.

“Then you should start taking notes.” He turns and sees Armin is still staring at him. He clears his throat and shrugs. “I thought I recognized him.” He shakes his head, freckle boy popping back into his memory.

“Yeah,” Armin says, as Eren busies himself with his engine again. “I think all the Maria Messengers look the same.”

“The what now?” Jean asks, whipping his head to look at the blonde boy, who is startled by Jean’s sudden peak of curiosity.

“The… messenger company. Maria’s Messengers.” Armin points out to the road even though the biker has already passed and is surely on fourth street by now. “That’s their uniform, those lime green shirts. I feel bad for them, their not allowed to wear jackets or anything over them, even when it rains.”

Jean did not respond. Ever since he’d seen the freckled messenger ride past yesterday, Jean had been thinking about him. Not a lot, because in all honestly he didn’t have much to go on. He didn’t know his name, or age, or… or anything. Now he knew where he worked but what good did that do him? He directed the conversation back to Armin.

“Why are you taking shop class when you don’t even like cars?”

The blonde froze, and Eren, again, looks over from his place under the BMW. He has surely asked Armin this question before, but waits for his answer anyways.

“My grandfather asked me to.”

Jean hesitates. It’s a solid answer, but Jean can’t think of anyone that’s he’s known to take a class simply because a relative asked them to. He remembers how his mother asked him to start taking Italian Sophomore year and he flat out refused without even listening to her explanation. Not because he was trying to upset her, but the thought of taking a language sickened him, and it didn’t matter that his mother was asking him to do it. He didn’t want to, there for he wouldn’t.

“Why?” Eren asks, and Armin shoots him a look, as if to say, “I’ve already told you this.”

To which Eren responds by nodding his head towards Jean, as if to say, “For his sake then.” Armin complies, turning back to Jean.

“We only own one car, him and I. We can’t afford another one and getting any sort of repairs is expensive, even with a discount for here like Eren’s always offering.” That gets a blush out of the brunette. “He wants me to know how to fix it if it ever breaks down and not cost any money.” Jean nods.

Armin’s not the first customer City-Bound has seen that tries in vain to lower the price of their repairs. They will claim welfare or insurance failed them, anything to gain pity from Jacklyn. Sometimes, on very, very rare occasions does it work. And only after Jacklyn takes it upon herself to look into the clients background information and insurance history. If she likes what she sees and doesn’t have to knock off too many dollar signs, she lowers the price. But more often than not, Jean is forced to watch her shoot down customers as they make up stories in order to save some cash. While he’s not as experienced as his mother, Jean believes that if Armin went to her with his statement, their total cost would be lowered.

Eren finished the BMW literally as the owner was coming back to retrieve it. The client complimented him multiple times, and tipped him well, and Armin stared at the wad of cash in Eren’s hand for a few seconds before shaking his head and turning away. As the owner walked to the lobby to finish off some paperwork, Eren dumped his tip into his jar. The plastic container was growing full, as Sasha and Jean had placed their tips from the day into their friend’s jar. But because of that, their jars were completely empty.

Jean could see Armin wanted to ask Eren how he had so much money, but refrained, and Jean was thankful for that.

“I’M HEADING OUT GUYS!”

Armin and Eren’s hands flew to their ears, covering them frantically while Jean jumps slightly off the ground before turning and glaring poison at Sasha. Connie, who is standing next to her, cackles loudly. She waves at the three boys, as Eren slowly removes both his hands from his head. Armin only drops one to wave back, calling out, “It was nice to meet you!”  

Connie starts to lead her to the door.

“Are you leaving too Connie?” Jean yells. He gets a nod back, and the two leave through the lobby. Jean vaguely recalls Connie telling him Sasha started asking him for rides to work, and figures that from now on if Sasha’s leaving, Connie’s leaving.

Armin looks down at his watch, and his eyebrows shoot up.

“I’ve got to get home.” He says, standing up and looking at Jean. “It was nice to meet you. I think I’ll be coming here twice a week from now on. Is that okay?”

“Of course, come back anytime.” Jean says, sticking on his “customer-friendly” smile because it’s the best one he’s got. Eren though, was frowning.

“Armin, I’ve still got one car left.”

“That’s okay, the complex isn’t far from here.” Armin shrugs, looking out through the open garage door. “It’ll be easy to walk.”

“It’s five miles.” Eren protests, his voice hard.

Armin only looks at him. “What’s your point?”

“It’s fucking dark out, you can’t even see the parking lot from here anymore. You can’t walk home alone!” Eren yells, and Jean looks around hastily because Eren’s second appointment should be coming soon and lots of clients really don’t like hearing the employee’s swear and shout. It's bad for imaging. But Jean can kind of see why Eren’s freaking out. Unfortunately, City-Bound isn’t placed in the nicest part of town, and every city has its fair share of muggings. Armin, again, unfortunately, looks like a short young blonde girl…in dim lighting…when you can’t see his face. He’s an easy target and while he’s naïve to it, Eren and Jean can only imagine what might happen him.

“Eren, I still have homework left. I need to get home, it’ll be fine I can be home in what? Thirty minutes? It’ll take you an hour at least to finish your car, I’ll just walk.”

“Armin, no—“

“Stop being ridiculous, it’s not even far—“

“ _Armin_ —“

“Excuse me?” All three boys whipped their heads around to see a middle aged man in the doorway to the lobby. He calls out to the boys. "Which one of you will be fixing my car?" Jacklyn is standing behind him, and Jean catches his mother’s eye before looking back at Eren. His coworker appears practically paranoid, and Jean realizes Eren has reached out to grab Armin’s sweatshirt to keep him from leaving the shop by himself.

With an internal groan, he makes his way to the customer, fighting the urge to roll his eyes.

“Hello sir,” he says, reaching out to shake the man’s hand. “I’ll be repairing your car. Mind pulling into slot #4 for me? I’ll have the door open and ready for you.” The man, clearly pleased with Jean’s demeanor and professional attitude, nods, shaking his hand firmly.

“Of course, son. I’ll be just a moment.”

“Take your time.”

Jacklyn leads the man out, and Jean turns to witness Eren grabbing his keys from his locker located on the far wall. As he gets closer, he sees Armin staring at him guiltily, and he looks away.

“Thank you,” Eren says, quietly so that Armin doesn’t overhear, but Jean reckons Armin understands what Jean has done.

“Just be at work on time tomorrow, alright?” Eren nods and starts to walk away but Jean sntaches hold of his shirt. “You’re running out of vacation.”

Eren freezes, glancing up at Armin before turning to Jean. “What?”

“Pretty soon you’ll be taking them without pay.” Jean says. Eren starts to shake his head.

“Jean—“

“I don’t have any control over it, you know that.” Jean hisses, letting go of the brunette. Eren hesitates, then walks away. He heads out into the parking lot, not even saying anything to Armin, but the blonde follows him wordlessly.  Eren was right though, as soon as they exit the garage Jean loses sight of them because it’s gotten so dark tonight.

The client, an owner of a 1986 station wagon, informs Jean he will not be able to pick up his car until the next day around noon. Jean tells him that’s perfectly fine, the vehicle will be ready to go by then. With another firm handshake and a kiss from his mother, he is left alone in the garage for the first time that day. He reads over the clipboard, then sighs before sitting down on the concrete. He actually is quite tired, but he’d rather finish the vehicle tonight then worry about it as he tries to go to sleep. 

He starts to lift the car, the night already feeling heavy to him. The engine on this station wagon is ugly, but not in too much damage. He doesn’t know exactly what time it is, but it’s probably later than he usually stays up. He wonders why his mother stayed up this late to still take a customer, cause usually the shop closes when the sun goes down, but the sun’s been down for a good hour and a half. Maybe she had paper work to do at her desk and lost track of time. Either way, it’s only piling up Jean personal workload. Then again, he never really planned on taking Eren’s appointment. Until he saw the panic in his friend’s eyes by the thought of Armin walking five miles alone in the dark, he was ready to plant his foot down and demand Eren complete both his cars for the day. But in all honestly, Jean lived just upstairs, and Eren felt responsible for his friend’s well being. It just made sense for Jean to take this client, even though he was far from happy about it.

The station wagon was raised and Jean was reaching over to grab the clipboard when he heard a clatter. Not a small clatter. A clatter so big Jean yelled out in fright and covered his eyes, spinning around quickly, expecting to see a car that drove through one of the garage doors. It’s only freckle face though.

He’s lying on the ground, still on his bike but on his side. In front of him is a total mess. City-Bound’s giant tool box, the same one Armin had been admiring when he’d first walked in was lying on the ground, dented and broken and destroyed. Screws and tools and pipes are rolling away from it, and some of the drawers had opened up and all their contents were on the floor. Jean felt anger boiling inside him cause he was going to have to clean up that whole mess, plus there’s was a grand possibility that some of the tools and other things had been broken in the fall.

Jean raised his gaze to the bike boy, and glared. Never mind the fact that he’d been thinking about this kid lately (cause that wasn’t important) he literally just broke a bunch of Jean’s expensive car shit.

“Do you always have to be so god damn dramatic when you come in here?” Jean screamed, starting to make his way over. Freckles groaned from his place on the floor, looking up at Jean in confusion for a moment. He then realized where he was and shoots to his feet, almost tripping on his bike but recovering well.

“Like, Jesus, the first time you almost run me over and now you’re fucking wrecking my shit?” Jean was getting closer, and the freckle boy was backing up now, but backed too far and collided with the wall. His hands were almost covering his face, as if trying to get rid of Jean by imagining that he wasn’t there.

“Look at this!” Jean screamed, pointing to a broken hammer on the ground. “The fucking handle’s completely off!”

“I’m really sorry, it was an accident—“

“YOU BROKE MY HAMMER!”

“MY BRAKES ARE BROKEN!”

The garage goes quiet. The boy is practically crouching now, glancing up in terror at Jean. He slowly sticks one finger out to his bike which still lays on the ground near the tool box.

“I couldn’t stop. I tried to avoid your...um...box thingy, but then I would have hit that car,” he turns his finger to the Camry in slot #1. “I figured that would have been worse.” He looks at Jean, who has slightly calmed down but is breathing hard and still has his hands clenched at his sides. “I didn’t mean to knock it over, really. But I need your help.”

Jean stares at him, trying to decide how to handle the situation. The tool box may need to be replaced, but it’s not like the kid did any serious harm. If there had been more people in the shop, like customers or his mother and the tool box and threatened to hit them, that would be another issue. But if freckle face is telling the truth, then he really did all his could. Cause hitting the Camry would have been incredibly bad, seeing as the owner threatened law suits if the car was damaged.

Sucking in a lot of air, Jean says, “I don’t know why you seem to think this is a bike repair shop.” The boy starts to drop his hands. “I’ve got no idea how to fix your brakes man.”

Freckle face shook his head. “Please I’ve got so many deliveries for tomorrow. I need them fixed now.” He stood up straight and looked at Jean apologetically. “I meant to come to come in earlier but there were loads of people.”

“So you figured you’d ride around while it was pitch black outside?” Jean asked, walking away from the boy and addressing the damage done by the fallen tool box. 

“I know, not my smartest move, but I really need them repaired," the boy takes a few steps toward Jean, but stops when he raises his head to look at him. 

“I can’t help you.”

“Please!”

“Look!” Jean shouted, raising his hand to the boy. “Honestly, I want to. It might save me from paying for more repairs to my shop; you won’t have to come barreling in here anymore but I don’t know how to help you. I know nothing about bikes.” Jean watched the boy’s expression fall even further on his face. “You’re going to have to go somewhere else.”

“There is no where else!”

“Well then I don’t know what to fucking tell you!” Jean shouted, %100 done with this annoying, freckly youngster.

“Could you just try and figure out what’s wrong?” the boy pleaded, so much desperation radiating off his body that it almost knocked Jean over.

He sighed, but felt true pity for the kid and he walked over, helping the him pull his bike up off the floor.

“Okay, so the brakes are located up here,” he nodded towards the handlebars and the pieces located in front of them. “And the rubber things down there are part of the brakes too, they latch onto the tire and stop it from moving. So watch this.” So Jean did. He watched as the boy squeezed the brakes near the handlebars tightly, and watched as the rubber pieces on the wheels…did nothing. They did absolutely nothing. They didn't move, they didn't squeeze the tire like the boy said they would, they did nothing. He frowned. 

"What exactly am I meant to be looking at?" he asked, standing and looking back at freckle face. 

"Did they do anything? Did they come off the wheel, did only one of them move--"

"No," Jean said, shaking his head and gesturing down at the wheel. "No, neither of them moved. I don't think the ones on the back wheel did either."

"There aren't brakes on the back wheel." the boy said, looking at him desperately as if he thought Jean wasn't taking the situation seriously. But the look only angered Jean.

"As I've already told you, I don't know shit about bikes, so excuse me if I can't offer you much help here." Jean was glaring now, his patience wearing oh so very thin. "You're the one that almost killed me when your stupid bike chain was off, and now you've broken my tool box, my _expensive_ tool box, just because your brakes aren't working! It's not like I owe you anything, I should be kicking you out of here and fining you for my broken shit!" 

The garage fell silent again. Jean wondered how his mother hadn't heard the commotion and come running down the stairs, but it was possible she was already in bed and Jacklyn slept like a rock. Jean looked to the ceiling where his mother's bedroom was directly above. But as he turned his attention back to bike boy, he realized he wasn't in front of him anymore. He was walking his bike towards the garage door. As Jean watched, he looped in leg over onto the other side, but then kept his feet planted on the ground as he turned back to Jean. 

"I'm sorry." the sincerity in his voice softened Jean, but the tool box was lying in front of him and it was late and he was tired and jesus he didn't need this right now. "I mean, I'm really sorry for the trouble I've caused you. I didn't mean to break your tools, and I'm sorry I almost hit you before." _Dammit._ "I won't come back, okay?" With that, he placed both feet on his pedals and started to pump. Jean clenched his fists by his side. Not only was he, again, really not in the mood, it was so dark outside and the kid's bike was broken and he was sorry and...shit.

"Stop, stop, stop, alright?" Jean called, even though the boy had pedaled into the parking lot and was gone from his view. He walked to the edge of the garage and continued shouting. "Turn around, get back here, I'll...I'll try to help you."

It was silent, and Jean feared the boy was long gone and would surely get into a crash by riding with a broken bike in the dark. But a second later, he heard, "Now you're just pitying me, you don't know how to help me."

The voice sounded close, like it was maybe right next to the road on the other side of the lot. 

"Would you just come back here?" Jean shouted. "You're going to get hit if you ride with a bike like that!"

"I made it all the way here without getting hit!"

"Yeah, and look how well you turned out!" Jean screamed, frustration creeping back into his voice. "For fuck's sake, Freckles, get your ass back over here!" Within five seconds, the sound of wheels turning was heard, and the boy was coming back into Jean's field of vision. He still held a guilty expression, the one Armin held earlier, and Jean wished he'd stop doing nice things for people. 

"Marco." Was the first thing the boy said when he was directly back in front of Jean. 

"What?" 

"My name's Marco," he gave Jean a small smile, sweeping his leg off the bike and standing next to it. "Not Freckles."

Jean hesitated. Marco. Marco, Marco, Marco. "Yeah, okay, I'm Jean. Now come here," he said, turning around and heading back into the garage. "I might be able to fix those."

"All of a sudden you figured something out?" Marco asked, doubt in his tone.

"Do you want help or not?" Jean demanded. Marco paled, nodding before towing his bike into the garage after Jean. "Okay then. Just...try not to break anything else, got it?" 


	4. The Girl is Supposed to Ask

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay so this is the longest chapter yet...and Jean's a wee bit grumpy in this one in the middle. But we get used to some other characters and we get to learn about Marco and little Jean-y wean-y is feeling butterflies aaAAAWWWW okay then....yeah....thank you for all the god damn support it's so uplifting!

“Wait a second, how the hell did you do that?”

Jean looks up from the engine. It’s now three in the morning, and he had just finished repairing the station wagon. It’s sitting pretty on the ground, and Jean’s leaning over the opened up front end, inspecting the engine while Marco turns the key in the driver’s seat. The engine roared beautifully, and Jean’s heart sang with it. Now though, Marco’s distracting him again, making comments that lead Jean to believe he hadn’t been paying attention at all while Jean had been fixing the motor.

“What do you mean?” he asks, closing the hood and walking around the driver’s seat. He looks down through the open window at the freckle boy and frowns. “Please tell me I haven’t been talking to myself the entire time you’ve been here.”

Marco grins. “Come on, when am I ever going to need this kind of information?”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Jean groans, straightening himself and walking over to the towel rack. He picks up a clean one, splatters some shine oil on it, and starts wiping down the front of the car. Jacklyn always told him to make the car prettier than when it first arrived. She used that theory a lot, like with notes Jean borrowed from friends in school, and clothes borrowed from others. Leave things nicer then when you got them.

“Do they pay you to clean the car?” Marco asks, getting out of the vehicle and settling down on the floor. He crosses his legs like a first grader and rests his elbows on his thighs, leaning forward slightly. Jean shakes his head without looking over.

“No, but it’s a matter of decency.”

“Do you even know how to spell that word?”

“Don’t get snarky with me, Freckles.” Marco’s grin widens, and he falls onto his back. Jean wonders how he can lie like that comfortably, the concrete being so hard.

After repairing Marco’s brakes (there was a fucking piece of loose gravel in one of the brake holes, wedged so tight the brakes stuck closed. Marco found it, but then Jean was the one tasked with taking it out cause he had the fancy tools to do it) Jean had expected Marco to take off and not return until he broke something else on his bike. But instead, as Jean walked back to his station wagon, Marco followed, taking a seat on the floor and watching. It reminded Jean of earlier that day with Armin watching and making commentary, but freckle face was much quieter than the blonde. And taller.

Jean found himself describing what he was doing without waiting for Marco to ask, and witnessing Marco nod thoughtfully in return. Of course, Jean is now realizing that Marco hadn’t been paying any attention to what he was saying. Actual conversation had started out slow, but they soon got to a point where talking was considered comfortable.

“How long have you worked here?” Marco asked him as Jean stood under the station wagon.

Jean answered him, never going into too much detail, but answering just the same.

“My mother owns the shop, so, since I was fourteen.”

“Wait, do you get paid then?”

“Yeah, I get paid. Tips though—“ _Don’t tell him about Eren_. “Tips are nice.” Smooth. “How long have you been a bike messenger?”

“Hanji and Levi hired me three years ago. I almost ran over him and his coffee, and Hanji told me if I wanted to bike that fast I should come work for them.”

“They didn’t give you that bike then?” Jean asked. With the lime green strip on the lower bar of Marco’s bike that matched his lime green shirt, he assumed all the messengers were given similar bikes. The strip was the same on the one he’d seen on the other biker earlier that day.

“No, they just added the green, so that people can’t steal them. And also so that people know who were are.” At this point, Marco had shifted so that he was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling as he talked to Jean. “A lot of times, bikers will hit cars, or buses, and on rare occasions pedestrians get hurt. It might just be knocking the coffee out of their hands; it might be actually running into someone at full speed.”

“Have you ever done that?” Jean asked, thinking of Marco swerving around people on the sidewalk the other day. Freckles seemed like a pretty clumsy person to him.

“What? No, god no, I would never.” Jean could hear the alarm in Marco voice.

“You almost knocked me over, remember?”

“But I _didn’t_ ,” Marco said, lifting his head and giving Jean a toothy grin. Jean went to return it, but Marco had already dropped his head back agian. “Anyways, when that happens, people might sue, and Levi can use the defense we had a deadline and a job to do and while we meant no harm, it wasn’t our fault things got a little out of hand.”

“’A little out of hand’ can be used to defend running someone over?” Jean asked, almost dropping the wrench he was holding.

“I said on rare occasions it happens. The last time a biker sent someone to the ER it was before I was hired, and even then Levi fired him.”

“How old are you?” Jean suddenly asked.

Marco lifted his head for moment, but Jean focused on the motor, hoping the question hadn’t sounded too abrupt.

“Eighteen.”

“How old are most of the messengers?”

“Older than me. But none older than twenty five.”

“Is there an age restriction?” Jean asked.

“No,” Marco dropped his head back. “But most people don’t wanna spend their days riding all around the city. It’s tiring.”

“Poor Marco.”

“Shut up,” Marco shouted, covering his face. Jean bite his lip, but it did little to hold back his laughter.

It was strange to have someone who didn’t work there in the garage. Customer’s never stayed, and only ventured in long enough to meet the mechanic repairing their vehicle and describe first-hand what they thought the problem was. But other than that, only the City-Bound employees spent more than ten minutes in the “Oily-Dungeon” as Jacklyn refereed to it. But despite that, Jean liked having Marco there.

The tool box still lying on the ground though, bent and dented and damaged beyond repair, was a reminder that if Marco were to stay until the opening time, Jacklyn may not be happy to see him.

As if reading his mind, Marco suddenly jumped to his feet.

“Alright, I have to fix that.”

“What?” Jean called out.

“I’m the one who knocked it over,” Marco called back as he started to make his way over to the far side of the garage where the toolbox still lies. “I’ve got to do something.”

If it had been anyone else, Jean would have been kicking them to _hurry up, yeah you’re god damn right you did break it now do something_. But instead he yelled, “You really don’t have to Marco, I can take care of that later.” Marco doesn’t even reply to him, just continues walking in the direction of the toolbox. “Marco! Come on, I’ve got to order a new one anyways, you can’t really do anything.”

“I can pick it up off the ground!” Marco shouted, throwing Jean a funny look over his shoulder. “I can get all your tools that aren’t broken and organize them into piles so you’re not fumbling for them later on! I can set aside the ones that are broken so you can look at them later and decide if they need repairing! I can—“

“Jesus, Marco, _okay_.” Jean covered his face with one hand, looking up into the station wagon hanging above his head. It’s quiet then, not silent, because Marco has started humming. “Thank you,” Jean mumbled, but there’s no way Marco heard him.

Jean kept an eye on him as Marco got to work on the toolbox. He struggled for a minute, trying to lift it off the ground to place in back on the counter to better inspect it and Jean almost started to run over to help him. But then Marco was grunting and lifting and then the toolbox was magically sitting on the counter in a matter of seconds.

He watched quietly as Marco took each tool carefully in his hands, looking at it thoughtfully before either setting it to his right or left. Broken or not. He chuckled lightly when he witnessed Marco place a tool to his left, then pick it up again and place it to his right, then waited a moment before changing his mind again. Eventually, he started turning around and holding tools up for Jean to look at, and even though he’s far away, he’s still able to correct the freckle boy.

“That one’s fine!”

“No, it’s broken!”

“Do you even know what that is?” Jean yelled as Marco held up a 3-centimeter wrench with levering liquid.

“I don’t know what any of these are!” Marco shouted back, throwing his hands in the air in utter frustration. Jean laughed loudly this time, placing a hand on his stomach and leaning over. “So many of them look alike but slightly different! How do you keep track of everything?”

“I grew up in this garage.” Jean said, giving the station wagon a final inspection. “I think if I really needed to, I could build a motor with my eyes closed.”

“Really?” Marco said, and Jean jumped, having not heard Marco walk back to him. He was only standing a few feet away, near the car lift operator. His big brown eyes stared at Jean like he was waiting, and he realized Marco had asked him a question.

“I mean,” he became bashful for some reason. No one had ever really questioned why he knew so much about cars and how they worked, because everyone that he knew, knew about how Jacklyn owned City-Bound. And everyone just assumed that yeah, Jean should know everything there is to know. It was _expected_ for Jean to know everything. No one had ever thought it strange or amusing that Jean was a geek when it came to vehicles. But then again, Jean and Marco didn’t really know each other.

“Yeah.” He finally said gaining a little confidence. “I’ve been doing it for a while now, I think I’ve got the hang of it.” Marco detected the sarcasm in Jean tone and backed off.  He stayed quiet as Jean lowered the car. He noticed Marco looking down at his feet, and felt a surge of guilt in his throat.

“How can you ride so fast?” he asked Freckles, just to get Marco to look at him.

Marco smiled. “I’ve been doing it for a while now.” Jean smirked, rolling his eyes. “I think I’ve got the hang of it.”

“You’re a little shit.” Jean said.

“That’s so rude!” Marco shouted. Jean laughed, shaking his head because he most certainly has never met anyone like Marco.

Now, as the freckle boy lies on the ground and Jean cleans the car, it’s quiet. Jean is the first to break the silence.

“The shop opens in like,” Jean checks his watch. “A few hours. When do you have to start making deliveries?”

“I have to be at work by seven.” Marco says.

“That’s when we open.”

Jean finishes wiping down the front of the station wagon and moves to the side, looking over the car now and then to see if Marco is moving. He’s completely still, except for his left hand, fingers stretched out, drawing little imaginary circles on the dust covering the cement. Jean watches him, until the position he’s crouching in starts to become uncomfortable and he stands. Throwing his arms up, he stretches. Marco sits up then, and his sudden movement startles Jean.

“I’d better go,” _Don’t act upset_. “I should try to get some sleep before I start riding tomorrow.”

Jean nods. “Yeah. Yeah, me too.”

Marco gets to his feet and starts making his way to his bike, which is sitting near slot #1, right where they left it. Jean hesitates, before following. He starts panicking because well shit, are they supposed to hug? Shake hands? Nod at each other, what the fuck?

But Marco barely gives Jena enough time to say goodbye he’s on his bike so fast. He pedals himself to the edge of the door before turning back to look at him.

“I’ll see you around?” Jean’s nodding before he even tries to speak.

“Yeah, I’m sure you’ll do your best to break more of my equipment.” He says with a small smirk.

Marco only smiles big at Jean, laughing and then pedaling himself out of the garage. The sun is ever so slowly starting to rise, but Jean still loses sight of Freckles as soon as he reaches the road.

And then he’s alone. He sighs, standing there for a moment in an effort to collect his thoughts on what the fuck just happened. Did he just make a new friend? Yeah, yeah he did. _Good job, asshole._

He rubs his wrist against his forehead, closing his eyes and yawning. It’s just hitting him now how extremely tired he is. He didn’t get much sleep last night, and now here he is again, practically pulling an all-nighter. Foolish, Jean.

But at least he got the car done. There are now four cars sitting in the garage, taking four out of the five slots. Jean hopes people come to retrieve their cars before others start to show up for appointments, but you never know. If that happens, clients are going to have to either leave their keys with the employees and leave them in the parking lot to be moved later, or stay with their cars until a slot opens up. Or they might just reschedule, but that’s always frustrating, because then when they come back they have a bitter taste in their mouth and they very rarely want to pay full price. Also, they never tip if they have to come back.

Jean tosses the towel to the side and makes his way to the lobby door. He’ll be lucky if he doesn’t pass out right now on the concrete. But as he passes the toolbox, he stops, alert.

Marco really did a nice job. He didn’t do much, just organized the tools slightly, but it’s neatly done and Jean’s thankful. It’s nice. Marco’s nice.

Jean shuts the lights off before heading upstairs.

(put a break thingy here)

“I’m going to hit you over the head with this thing.”

“Yeah, right.”

“ARE YOU TESTING ME?”

“PUT THAT DOWN!”

“Why are so many people _yelling_?”

All four kids whip their heads to Jean, who is very angrily, very aggressively stomping towards them. They straighten, Connie placing the socket wrench behind his back, but Jean can still see it from the angle at which he’s walking to them. Armin and Eren step closer to one another, as if bracing themselves against the wrath that is Jean Kirstein.

“Do any of you realize that we have customers in the lobby who can most definitely hear you?” Jean says, his own voice low but harsh, jabbing every word at the four teenagers in front of him. “How do you think it’s going to look for business if you’re all in here threatening to kill each other?”

“Armin and I weren’t doing anything,” Sasha defends herself, and Connie throws her a look of desperation. Armin still looks beyond guilty, but nods half heartedly with Sasha. Eren shoots him a look similar to Connie’s, but in reality Armin doesn’t even work at City-Bound and yet here he, is potentially costing them clients.

“What exactly is the problem?” Jean asks, crossing his arms over his chest. Connie and Eren rush to explain before the other.

“Eren was working on my car—“

“I was not, I was just looking at your oil drainage to compare it to mine—“

“And then the pipe almost falls out!”

“I didn’t touch it!”

“Stop shouting, you complete _asses_.” Jean says. They’re standing close enough together that he can reach his arms out and hit both of their shoulders with each hand, sending them stumbling back a few steps.

“Jean it was just a misunderstanding.” Armin pipes up, and Jean turns his attention to him.

“A misunderstanding resulted in threatening to knock someone over with a seven pound tool?” he asks, in a tone that has Armin looking away from him in embarrassment.

“I wasn’t actually going to hit him,” Connie offers dumbly. Jean rolls his eyes.

“I’m surprised you can even lift that thing, Springer.”

“Eren, shut the fuck up.” Jean says. “Connie, did the pipe fall out?”

“No,” Connie says, playing the wrench in his hands.

“Is that car fully repaired?”

Sasha scoffs. “ _No_ ,” Connie says, glaring at her.

“Then finish it, the owner’s gonna be here soon.” Jean says. He waits for Connie to walk back to the car in slot #2 before turning to Sasha. “You never filled out your report for that Prius you fixed last week.”

“Okay,” Sasha replies, getting the message. She’s always the laziest when it comes to finishing up with reports. Jacklyn’s usually on her case, but Jean is the first to catch her this time. As she walks away, Jean focuses on Eren and Armin.

“Why do I feel like Eren gets in more trouble when you’re around?” He says directly to Armin, and the blonde seems to shrink.

“That’s not entirely true,” Eren says in his effort to defend his friend, but Jean’s had enough.

“You have not even touched that convertible in slot #1 and it’s been here for two hours,” Jean says to Eren, glaring and clenching his fists. “Get it done, or I will kick Armin out.”

“What the fuck is your problem?” Eren says, taking a step forward into Jean’s face. “It’s barely noon and you’re acting like someone was stomping on your balls all night.”

Even after Marco had left, Jean only received maybe an hour of sleep before he had to get up and start morning preparations. He was running on low energy, a customer had yelled at him already about not having the backseat of the car cleaned (even though that’s not part of the job description) and now his coworkers had practically started a riot in his garage. He wasn’t in the mood for any of it.

But he understood that being rude to Armin was unnecessary. He just needed Eren to start working.  

“I can leave, Jean,” Armin says quietly, looking at him with eyes like he meant it. “Really, if you’re not okay with it, I can go.”

“No,” he says, locking eyes with Armin. He sighs, before looking away. “Just,” he rubs his temple, and he doesn’t see it but Eren’s expression softens. “Just get it finished by one, okay?”

Eren nods, a new look of determination crossing his face. “Okay.”

As Armin passes him, Jean grabs his shoulder. “Keep him focused for me, will you?”

Armin nods, still slightly wary but determined like Eren. “I will.”

Jean heads back to the car in slot #3. It’s Sasha’s, but it’s completed, and they’re only waiting for the owner to come back. He only asked for an oil change, and Sasha’s always been the quickest at those, despite Jean living here. Jean considers wiping the car down, but then upon closer inspection, realizes Sasha has already done so. He smiles to himself.

“So what the hell happened here last night?”

Jean jumps out of his skin, spinning around at the same time and bugging his eyes out at Sasha. He’s never been able to hear her coming, and is constantly scaring the employees of City-Bound. He considers yelling at her, but her question has thrown him off.

“What?” he asks, feeling his face heat up. “Nothing.”

“So, who the hell broke our tool box then?” Sasha asks him, nodding her head to where the broken toolbox still sat on the shelf. “Were you walking around here blindfolded?”

“No, of course not, it—“ Jean stops. He suddenly feels the need to _not_ tell anyone about Marco. Like he’s a secret or something. Stupid, but true. He lies to Sasha. “I just wasn’t watching where I was going. We need a new one anyways.”

“Yeah,” She says, but she’s looking at Jean funny. “We do. Though I don’t think you needed to wreck the old one before we got it.”

“It was an accident.” Jean said, starting to walk away from her.

“Wait, Jean,” she says, reaching out and snatching his arm. He turns around to look at her, raising his eyebrows in question. “I need your help.”

“My what?”

“I’m serious.”

“Um,” Jean looks down at her hand on his arm, but she only tightens her grip.

“Connie—“

“Oh Jesus,” Jean starts, using his free hand to cover his face, which is turning bright red. He lowers his voice. “Sasha, I don’t think I’m the right person—“

“Kirstein will you just listen to me?” Sasha strains, tugging him closer to her. She looks to her right, but Connie is lying on a creeper under his car, so there’s no way he can hear their conversation. “He hasn’t asked me out yet.”

“Maybe it’s cause you’re so god damn aggressive.” Jean says, finally ripping his arm out of her hand.

“Jean.”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” he says, his face cooling down as he looks at her. “I’m certainly not the person to be asking relationship advice from.”

“But if you were going to ask out a girl, how would you do it?”

“Sasha—“

“You’re supposed to just man up and do it.”

Jean and Sasha throw Eren similar looks of annoyance. They didn't hear him or Armin walk over to them.  Armin rolls his eyes at his friend, but is clearly trying to hide his smile.

“This isn’t the time, Yeager.” Sasha practically spits out. Eren shakes his head.

“No, I’m serious.” Eren brushes his hands on his shirt as he talks. “This is all about Connie, right?” Sasha and Jean both open their mouths but Eren keeps going. “Most guys don’t plan a big proposal for a simple date, they just kind of say it. There’s usually no elaborate plan, just a short sentence.”

“I’m not saying I want a big proposal,” Sasha says, dropping her head into her hand. “I just feel like it should have happened by now. I thought I was being obvious, I thought he was being obvious.”

“Maybe he expects you to do it.” Armin says. They all look at him. He shrugs. “What, I’ve heard of that. Last year this girl at school hung a bunch of balloons from the ceiling and had the marching band play so that she could ask her boyfriend to prom. Sometimes the guy waits for the girl to ask.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Jean says. “When has it ever been the girls job to ask the guy out.”

“Do you think that would work?” Sasha asks Armin now, her eyes wide and desperate.

“Oh my god, Sasha, no, pull yourself together.” Eren says, giving her arm a punch. “You and Connie have been acting like a couple for almost a year now, if he hasn’t made a move already, it’s his fault.”

“Yeah, or he doesn’t even like me.” Sasha mumbles, looking down at her feet.

“You’re acting like you’re thirteen.” Jean says. Armin moves in.

“I’ve only been here twice, but each time, it seems that Connie does his very best not to take his eyes off you.” His gaze flickers over to where Connie still lies under his car. “I’m not an expert, but I at least know that he cares about you more than anyone here.”

“That’s not much of an accomplishment.” Sasha says, giving Armin a pitiful look. “These two are assholes and you’re new.”

“Hey!” Jean and Eren yell in union.

“Guys?” A new voice startles the four of them. It’s only Connie, his voice muffled from under the car. “Can one of you hand me a lever?”

Sasha moves first, grabbing a lever off the shelf and crouching next to the car, sliding the lever under the minivan. The three boys can’t hear Connie reply, maybe he doesn’t give one, but either way Sasha stands with a huge grin on her face. She catches Jean’s eye though, and the smile fades.

The afternoon goes by slow. But today, for the first time in two weeks, the garage is left completely empty by the end of the work day. There are no cars in any slot, and Jean almost jumps with joy at the idea of going to bed early tonight.

He thoughts are stopped by a familiar face. A familiar freckled face.

It’s after everyone else has gone home. Eren took Armin, Connie took Sasha, and since it’s eight o clock, Jean and his mother have already eaten dinner. Jean only came back to the garage to start inspecting some of the broken tools so Jacklyn could start ordering new ones. But he’s glad he did. The biker was riding by slowly, and upon seeing Jean, immediately turned into City-Bound’s parking lot. Jean walked to the edge of Door #1 to meet him.

“Lemme guess,” Marco says as a greeting. He parks his bike and gets off. “You didn’t get much sleep either.”

Jean can clearly see the dark circles under Marco’s eyes, and knows he’s looking into a mirror. They both looked drained of energy, but are smiling all the same.

“You don’t look much better, Freckles.”

“Yeah well, which one of us has been riding around all day?” Marco shot back.

“Alright, alright, you’ve got me there. How can you even be standing right now?” Jean asks.

Marco laughs softly. “I don’t know, I’m starting to fade. Levi took one look at me this morning and almost sent me home.”

“And you didn’t take that offer?”

“Messengers get paid daily.”

“Daily?” Jean barked. He’d never heard of such a thing.

“Yeah, you see,” Marco actually rolled his shoulders, as if preparing to give a big speech. It made Jean chuckle. “Some days I only have two deliveries, other days I have thirteen. I only get paid for how many deliveries I complete per day.”

“So, what, five dollars every delivery?” Jean asked.

“No, it depends on how far the client is.”

“Oh, well that’s…” he struggled for the correct word. “Stupid.”

Marco only laughed. “Yeah, but I think it’s fair. A lot of other messengers complain.”

“Yeah, I would be one of them. It’s not like you get to decide how many deliveries to take.” Jean turned around and started walking back into the garage, assuming that Marco would follow. When he didn’t hear footsteps behind him though, he glanced at Marco.

“Do you need an invitation?” he asked, thinking Marco was just trying to be polite. “You’ve never asked before.”

Marco smiled at him, and Jean fought to keep his knees from buckling.

“I’ve actually got one message left.” He placed one foot back on its pedal. “I just wanted to say hi.”

“Oh,” Jean said, nodding. He paused, then took a dare. “See you tomorrow?”

Marco’s grin lit up his face, and his freckles practically glowed in the little sun left of the day. “Tomorrow.” He said. Then he pedaled away.


	5. Rained Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wow I've been gone a seriously long time. Anyhoo  
> Kind of a filler chapter. Watch some relationships develop. I'm just getting my feet wet again. Enjoy :)

Jean woke up with his alarm, and flung the covers off his head. He practically sprinted into the kitchen, but almost ran over his mother in the process.

“Jean, honey, I hate when you run up here.”

“Sorry,” Jean responded. “I just got a lot to do today, so you know,” he tries to shimmy past her but the hall is too thin for him to squeeze. Jacklyn laughs at him. 

“I can’t remember the last time I saw you this excited to get to the garage.” She says, starting to purposely walk slower. Jean groans loudly, and gives her a gentle shove on the shoulder,  
which only causes her to laugh harder. 

“Something the matter, Jean?”

“Mother—“ She only laughs harder. 

As soon as they reach the kitchen and Jean has room to move, he slips past her and heads for the door. 

“Do not even think about going down to the garage without changing.” She says sternly, not even looking up from the fridge where she now stands. 

“What’s wrong with what I’ve got on?” Jean questioned, gesturing down at his pajama bottoms and gray t-shirt. 

“Those are your only PJ’s and I swear if you get oil on them, you will scrub it out yourself with a toothbrush.”

“I’m only going down to fill out some reports, I’ll be back to change in a few minutes.” 

She let him go. He bounces down the stairs into the lobby area. He really did have reports to fill out, but he’s also going down to open one of the garage doors in case Marco bikes past. Ten minutes later, his mother is calling him, and Jean races back up the stairs to change and grab a little breakfast. Jacklyn informs him that it’s going to be a slow day, seeing how they only have three appointments between all four employees. Jean smiles at the thought, and his mother gives him a funny look. But if there weren’t a lot of cars, and Marco stopped by, he wouldn’t have to spend the whole time talking underneath a vehicle, which really might be a first for them. Either way, the first client wasn’t going to show up until noon, so the morning was spent with the City-Bound workers sitting on the concrete floor with nothing to do.

“I mean, we should be washing those towels.” 

“Shut your mouth, Kirstein,” Connie spits out, falling onto his back and groaning. “You’re the one who lives here. Why can’t you do it after hours?” 

“You realize it is actually part of your job description right?” Jean fires back, narrow his eyes at Connie even though he’s not looking him. “To clean up and organize your tools after finishing  
a day’s work?”

“’A day’s work,’” Sasha mocks, giggling. “Don’t sound so pretentious.”

“I’m not—“

“Hey,” Eren interjects, waving at something behind Jean. “You coming in or what?”

Jean whips around expecting to see a lime green shirt and some freckles standing in Door #1. But instead Armin walks over to the mini circle of blue t-shirts. 

“Hey.” He says, sitting next to Eren and across from Jean. 

“I thought you weren’t coming around till noon?” Connie asks, and Jean feels frazzled for a second, because he had no idea that Armin was even coming around at all. When he first met the blonde, Armin had told him that he’d probably be coming around once or twice a week. He’d been there everyday since then. Not that it was a problem. Yesterday had been sort of difficult, but other than that, Armin had brought some what of a new light to the dull atmosphere of City-Bound. Eren laughed more, Connie and Sasha didn’t piss Jean off as much, and he had someone other than the current employees and his mother to talk to. Even though it’d only been four days, it probably would have been weird for Armin not to be at City-Bound.

“I’m only stopping by before school.” Armin says to Connie, knocking Jean out of his thoughts and focusing back on the conversation. 

“Woah, wait what?” Sasha outbursts, holding a hand out to Armin. “When does school start?”

“Eight thirty.” Armin says, and now he smiles. “They moved it back an hour after last year.”

“You mean to tell me that I woke up at 7 o’clock every morning for four years only to graduate and have the time moved back an hour after I’m gone?” Sasha practically cries.  
Jean grins. There’s only one school in the city of Trost, therefor all the employees except Connie went to school together. Connie moved with his parents to Trost the summer after he graduated because his grandparents live in the city, and later got a job at City-Bound to pass time. Passing time turned into full fledged commitment, as he worked full days and earned quality pay checks. 

But Sasha, Eren and Jean practically grew up together, despite the fact that they weren’t friends while going to school. Seeing as there was only one school, and there were more than 700 hundred kids in each class, Jean didn’t even recognize Sasha or Eren when they started working at his mother’s company. Not to mention the fact that Eren had skipped a lot of a school because of Mikasa, and Sasha’s rich father was always taking her on vacations. Jean also didn’t recognize Armin, who was only two years younger. But then again, Jean didn’t spend too much time looking back on his high school years. Though as he thinks of it, it’s possible Marco went to their high school, and that Jean just doesn’t recognize him. He wants to ask his coworkers but decides not to.

“Yeah,” Armin laughs, nodding his head. “On the first day of school, a bunch of people we’re already there at seven because they were so used to waking up early. The freshmen though,” Armin rolls his eyes. “The freshmen don’t know about the struggle they dodged.”

“Those lucky bastards,” Eren says, smiling at Armin, who returns it. They talk for a little while longer until Armin stands and claims he’s got to head out. 

“I’ll walk you out,” Eren says, getting to his feet as well. 

“So you are coming back this afternoon, Armin?” Jean calls out. Armin nods in response, before waving to Connie and Sasha and leaving the garage with Eren by his side. It’s quiet for a moment. Connie breaks the silence first.

“Eren’s totally tapping that ass.”

“Excuse me?” Jean strains, extending his neck out as he stares at his coworker with dinner plates for eyes. “What did you just say?”

“Oh, shut up, Jean, you know how obvious it is, we can all see it.” Sasha says, rolling her eyes at Connie.

Jean shakes his head at them. “Don’t do this, uh-uh, none of that shit.”

“What shit?” Connie asks, tilting his head at Jean.

“Look,” Jean starts. “Yeah, okay, yeah we can all see it but do not do say anything to Eren. Or Armin. Just don’t say anything.”

“Why the hell not?” Connie scoffs. “Eren’s always getting into other people’s business.”

“Because I said so,” Jean answers. 

“Dude, you literally sound like my kid sister,” Sasha says, rubbing her forehead with the palm of her hand. 

 

Jean only glared down the two of them until they nodded and agreed to keep quiet. He didn’t feel like explaining why he found it so necessary for Eren’s crush on Armin to stay secret. Their coworker had enough to worry about than his friends picking at his love life. Connie and Sasha didn’t know much about Mikasa, only the surface of her situation. Eren tossed the word cancer around like it was a common cold. Even though Sasha and Connie both donated the majority of their tips to Eren, they still believed Mikasa would get better. Only Jean and his mother understood the severity of Mikasa’s illness. 

The three cars rolled up within ten minutes of each other. Connie, Sasha and Eren all volunteered to take on a vehicle, so Jean and his mother could focus on reorganizing the new tool box. It had been delivered earlier that morning, along with some new tools. Jean was acting like it was Christmas morning, and his mother stared at him fondly as he gazed and beamed at the new tool box sitting on the counter. 

“Really, Mom,” he says, holding his hand out to her. “You don’t need to help, I’ve got this. Just stay up at the front desk.”

“Alright,” she laughs, waving at the other employees before disappearing back into the front lobby. Jean rubs his hands together, and practically dives head first into the first box of tools. 

(break thingy)

“Hey,” Connie calls over his shoulder. Jean turns around. “We’re rolling out.”

“Okay,” Jean responds, nodding at the smaller teen. “See you tomorrow.”

It was only four o’clock. But the garage was once again, empty, and City-Bound was closing in just a couple of hours. Jacklyn sent the others home, knowing Jean could handle another car should one turn up. Jean didn’t mind when his mom sent the others home a little early. She never did if there were still cars in the slots, and never if Jean was working on something else important. If he hadn’t finished the tool box, he might have asked her to at least keep Eren here. But he’d set the last screwdriver in its drawer thirty minutes ago. Now he was just sitting on one of the lawn chairs Jacklyn kept in the garage, staring out Door #1. 

He kept telling himself to stop looking for Marco. Even though Freckle Face hadn’t stopped by yet, and he’d told Jean last night he would see him tomorrow, there hadn’t been any sign of him. Once, a few hours ago, a lime green shirt sped by, and Jean’s palms suddenly became so sweaty the nail gun in his hand slipped out onto the floor. 

“Jesus!” Eren yelped, jumping in surprise at the loud clatter. “What’s the matter with you? What if that had gone off?”

“Sorry,” Jean said bitterly, realizing the Maria Messenger was not Marco. He picked the nail gun back up and refused to look out Door #1 for another half an hour.

Now, he purposefully turns the chair away from the Door, so it doesn’t look like Jean was waiting for Marco to show up. Because, he isn’t, of course. Waiting. He isn’t.  
He thinks about shutting the door. There’s no need for it to be open, and if his mother comes out and asks him why it is, he’ll have no good excuse. He stands, making his way towards the control box. His hand hovers over the button, the arrow turned down. But if he closes the door, Marco might think they’re closed and ride right by. 

A roar of thunder makes Jean flinch in surprise. He steps away from the button, and walks out into the parking lot. Turning his head up towards the sky, he wonders why he never noticed how dark it was getting throughout the day. His mother had kept the lights on in the garage, but Jean had been so focused on the tool box he didn’t pay any attention. Now, he realizes the weather is so crummy, the lights had needed to stay on since there was no sunlight coming from the open Doors.

Just as the first raindrop hits the palm of his outstretched hand, a familiar voice rattles through his reality. 

“Fan of the rain?”

Jean tears his eyes from the sky just in time to see Marco ride up from the road into the parking lot. He rides in a small circle around Jean once before braking, hoping off the seat and knocking the kickstand down. He steps in front of Jean and turns his face upwards. Jean watches a few drops fall on his cheeks and forehead before he looks back down at the mechanic. He smiles at him.

“Me too.”

“I’m not a fan of rain,” Jean retorts. Internally, he’s fighting the urge to reach out and wipe the few droplets off Marco’s freckled face. He’s fighting the urge to reach out and touch Marco in general. “I do like the thunder, though.”

“What about lightning?” Marco asks, turning slightly and grabbing the handlebars of his bike. Jean wonders if he’s going to immediately jump back on and ride away. But Marco simply pushes the kickstand back up and walks the bike towards the entrance of the garage. Jean follows him, feeling more rain drops pepper his skin, heavier than the first few.

“Not really,” Jean answers him finally, once they’re both under the roof of the garage. Marco puts the kickstand back up and turns to look at Jean again. “Just thunder.”

“Can’t have one without the other.”

“Yeah, that’s the problem, isn’t it?”

For a moment they just stand there, both waiting for the other to start another conversation. Jean begins panicking, but his mother comes to his rescue. 

“Jean!” she cries, whipping open the door to the lobby. “Two seater convertible. Rusted clutch and oil change.”

“Got it,” he calls back, grabbing Marco’s bike and hauling it away from the door. 

“Don’t put your greasy hands on my bike!” Marco sputters after him, right on Jean’s heels. Giggling, Jean lugs the bike all the way to the back of the garage, clear out of the way. Once he sets it back down, he abruptly turns around, only to find himself toe to toe with Marco. 

Jean barely has time to suck in a breath. Marco is taller than him, his dark hazel eyes as wide as owls as they stare down into Jean’s. Their chests are almost touching—for God’s sake their noses are almost touching. Jean wonders if his face is really red. It must be, he hasn’t taken a breath in almost twenty seconds. Why was Marco standing so close behind him? Why didn’t he move when he realized Jean was turning around? Why isn’t he moving now? Jean’s head is so fuzzy with thoughts he can barely register what’s happening, probably because nothing is happening. But then Marco pushes him one step too far. He looks at Jean’s mouth. 

Jean plants his hands on Marco’s chest and shoves. The freckled boy is knocked to the side, and can do nothing but watch as Jean stomps toward Door #1. Jean pulls in air through his nose and pushes it out through his mouth. In front of him, the Convertible is pulling up. Perfect timing, Jean thinks, suddenly grateful for the distraction. He can hear Marco walking up behind him. But what he also hears is the wheels of the bike turning. Marco is leaving. 

Cursing to himself, Jean discusses with the driver of the Convertible. He’s never had a guy look at his mouth the way Marco did. He doesn’t want Freckles to leave, he just freaked Jean out. But Marco stands just inside open Door #1. Jean thinks he would have left by now, but maybe Marco is too polite to ride away without saying goodbye. So he’ll wait for Jean to finish talking. There for, Jean talks his time talking. 

“You’ll need a brand new clutch,” he tells the owner of the vehicle. Rolling out from under the car, he sits up on the creeper. He’s avoiding looking at Marco, worried he’ll get a half smile as a goodbye and won’t have a chance to ask if he’ll see him tomorrow. “I can order one tonight and get it hear by tomorrow, but the possibility of you picking the car back up by then is small. I won’t have the clutch in and ready to go until Friday.”

“That’s fine.” The driver says, waving is hand at Jean. “Take all the time you need, I just want to make sure it’s done right.”

“I can guarantee you that much,” Jean says, standing and shaking the driver’s hand. “Did you fill out all your paperwork?” The driver nods, already inching towards the exit. “Great. Friday it is.” The driver escapes into the parking lot. Jean finally looks at Marco. 

“You don’t have to leave,” he says before Marco can even open his mouth. But he doesn’t know what to say after that, so he waits. Marco looks doubtful. 

“I still have another delivery,” he says slowly. “I just wanted to say hi.”

“Why’d you come inside then?” the words fly out of Jean’s mouth before he can stop them. Marco’s eyes snap towards him.

“It was raining.”

And still is. It’s pouring outside, the rain coming down so hard Jean can see the owner of the Convertible run towards the passenger side of a running car in the parking lot, flinching and yelping as the rain pelts him. 

“So, maybe you should just stay,” Jean suggests, keeping his eyes on the driver instead of Marco. “It can’t be safe to ride around in this weather.” He dares a glance at the freckle boy. 

“Especially without a jacket.”

“You know we are allowed to wear them,” Marco says now, a smile creeping into his voice. “That’s a silly rumor a fired employee spread. We just normally don’t because they’re hard to ride in.”

Jean doesn’t say anything, worried he’ll press his luck. He waits. And waits. Marco pops his kickstand down. 

“Guess I’ll just have to watch you change this guy’s oil.”


	6. Sasha, you idiot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Helloooooooooo  
> So Jean and Marco be super chill and super cute in this one. And Sasha's a dumb fuck but don't even worry about it. Like, don't even worryyy abouttt itt.

Jean wakes up with a smile on his face. That hasn’t happened since his father died. A stream of sunlight pours into his room through the curtains covering his window. Without sitting up, he grips the edge of the fabric and pulls, tugging open the curtains and allowing more sunlight to brighten the room. 

Through the door and down the hall, he can hear his mother moving around in the kitchen. Jacklyn has never woken up without an appetite. Breakfast is her favorite meal, and she is always shocked and angry when Jean tries to slip past her to the garage without eating something first. But this morning, Jean doesn’t even try to sneak out. He changes quickly, brushes his teeth, and meets his mother at the table. 

“Morning,” he says, kissing the side of her face and opening the pantry door. Jacklyn stops cold, her coffee cup balanced in one hand. She moves only her eyes and watches her son practically dance around the kitchen. 

“Alright,” she says slowly. “What’s gotten into you?” Jean bites his lip. It’s a been a couple of weeks, but he still hasn’t mentioned Marco. Not that there’s anything to talk about. He made a new friend, that’s all. 

The night before, Marco stayed with Jean until the rain stopped near two in the morning. It only took the mechanic thirty minutes to change the oil in the Convertible, and afterwards he gave  
Marco a proper tour of the garage. 

“Nothing fancy within these four walls,” Jean started out, as Marco admired the new tool box and the opposite wall of utilities. He didn’t know what anything was, and constantly asked Jean  
questions as they walked around. 

“What’s this?” 

“A ratchet extender. It helps get into tight spots in engines.”

“What’s this?” 

“A needle scale. It blows off rust and old paint.”

“What’s this?”

“PUT THAT DOWN!”

Marco dropped the nail gun in a frenzy, jumping back and staring at Jean in alarm. It bounced off the ground before clattering a few feet away. Jean heaved out a sigh. 

“Good God, what the hell is it?” Marco asked, a hand clutched over his heart. Jean shook his head. After he’d dropped the nail gun earlier that day and Eren had scolded him, he’d remembered how twitchy the trigger was on the gun. It sometimes went off without warning. Seeing Marco pick it up sent his heart through his chest. 

“A nail gun,” Jean said, picking the tool up carefully. He set it back on the counter and thought to remind his mother to order a new one. What if Marco came in and picked it up and put a nail through his foot? Or Armin? Or god forbid his mother? “Not the safest thing we own.”

“You know,” Marco said, shooting Jean a sideways smile. “Never pegged mechanic to be labeled under ‘dangerous occupations’.” Jean huffed. 

“A car fell off one of the raisers last year and nearly killed my coworker Mike.” The color drained out of Marco’s face, and Jean almost felt bad. 

“Are you serious?” the freckled boy asked. “How does that even happen?”

“It wasn’t seated correctly,” Jean said, walking away from the wall of tools and towards the back where the two couches were. “It was partly Mike’s fault, but no one ever told him that.”

“Why not?” Marco asked. When Jean looked at him, he raised his hands innocently. “I don’t mean anything by it, just wondering.”

Jean shrugged. “With a fractured skull and a lot of broken bones, my mother did nothing but give him compensation and a get well card. He’s got a wife, just had a baby a few weeks before. He couldn’t afford to go such a long time without work.”

“Did he come back?”

Jean nodded. He settled down on one of the couches. Marco hesitated, then sat down next to him. 

“Have you ever wanted to quit?”

Jean scoffed. “Are you kidding? I’m planning on taking over after my mother.”

“You already act like you own the shop,” Marco commented, grinning at Jean. “At least you know you’ll reach your goal.”

“Have you thought of quitting the Messengers?”

Marco shrugged. “I can’t see myself working anywhere else. But, at the same time, I know I can’t work there forever.”

“Did you have another job before Levi found you?”

A funny look crossed Marco’s face and he glanced at Jean. He looked him over, making Jean uncomfortable. 

“What?” the mechanic snapped. 

“I’m surprised you remembered his name. I only told you once.”

Fire. Whether it was a forest fire, or a building fire, or an engine combustion, that’s how hot his face got. Jean blinked a few times, and shook his head, looking away. 

“I’ve got a good memory.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Marco said, trying to hide his grin. He was failing, and Jean kicked him. Marco laughed.

And that’s how the night went. Jean got better at the small talk. He learned Marco didn’t live with his parents, ever since some big argument he had with them a few years back. Instead, he lived with his aunt downtown, in a small one-bedroom apartment. Marco slept on the couch and bought his food and essentially lived on his own. It made Jean twinge a little, thinking of how much he’d give just to see his dad one more time, and here was Marco, choosing not to live with his parents. But he didn’t say anything. It wasn’t his place. He did tell Marco about his father, but only because Marco asked why he didn’t work with him and his mom. To his credit, Marco didn’t show a shed of pity. He didn’t cock his head and sit out his lip and piss Jean off like most people. Instead, he sighed and nodded. 

“That’s shitty,” he said softly. Jean looked at him for a moment, admiring his manner. Then he nodded. 

“Yeah. It’s pretty shitty.”

Neither of them had siblings. Jean didn’t own any pets, Marco’s aunt had a big dog named Olli. Jean wanted to a be Mechanic the rest of his life, Marco wanted to be fancy scientist and cure cancer. At the word, Jean thought of Mikasa, but didn’t say anything.  
In the middle of him talking, Marco turned and swung his legs up, resting them in Jean’s lap. The freckled boy tipped his head back and slide down to lay easier. Part of Jean wanted to throw Marco’s legs off him. The other part wanted to lie down next to him. At that thought, he shivered, and simply placed an arm over Marco’s shins. 

Eventually, the rain puttered to an end. Their night finished the same. Marco couldn’t swallow his yawns anymore, and he sat up. Jean’s legs were cold where Marco’s had left. He stood up with Marco. 

“You busy tomorrow?” Marco asked him as he headed for his bike. Jean shrugged. 

“Shop’s always busy,” he said, not able to give Marco a straight answer. “You seem to find a way to get in no matter what.”

“One of my many talents,” Marco gave Jean a toothy grin. Jean couldn’t return it until he knew Marco was coming back tomorrow. 

“You got a lot of deliveries tomorrow?” Jean asked him, noticing Marco’s gaze shifting towards his mouth again. He turned away from the freckled boy. 

Marco got the hint. He mounted his bike and pedaled to Door #1’s entrance. 

“If I’ve got time,” he said. He glanced over his shoulder. “I’ll stop by, okay?”

“Goodnight, Freckles,” Jean said, finally smiling at him. Marco beamed, and Jean’s stomach flipped over twice. 

“Goodnight, Jean.”

“Jean. Jean. JEAN.”

“What—What?” he gasps now, dropping the box of Toasted Oats onto the ground. Thankfully, the box didn’t open and spill its contents everywhere. He huffs, and bent to pick it up off the ground. 

“Where are you right now?” Jacklyn asks her son, shaking her head at him. “You’ve been staring at nothing for almost a five minutes now.”

“Got a lot on my mind, lot of the schedule,” Jean says in a rush, putting the cereal away and grabbing a package of pop-tarts of the pantry. “Better get down there.” 

He dashes out of the kitchen and down the stairs before his mother could interrogate him any further. 

 

(Breaky thingy here)

“Wait, you did what?”

Sasha grits her teeth. She closes her eyes and heaves out a sigh. 

“I used a stripped bolt to repair the side wall of the engine.”

Jean stares at her. It was the most basic mistake a repair worker could make. But Sasha isn’t basic. And she isn’t new at this. He shakes his head, and asked her again.

“Jean, for the love of God, I’ve told you four times!”

“Sorry if this is a little hard for me to comprehend,” he spits out, leaning over her. Or at least, he tried to. They were almost the same height. “Because I’m struggling to understand where you got the idea that was an okay thing to do.”

“Look,” Sasha says, crossing her arms over her chest. “I made that repair months ago. Everything else on the car was fine, there was a lot of other stuff happening that day, we basically had a line outside in the lot. Using a stripped bolt was the faster repair I could think of. I didn’t think—“

“Stop right there,” Jean cuts her off, glaring at her. “You didn’t think. That’s the end of it. And now, we’ve got a potential law suit on our hands, because you’re stripped bolt almost got a man killed.”

“Oh right,” Sasha scoffs, her eyes bugging out. “Like it’s my fault the guy ran a red light and got into a car accident.”

“It’s not, but putting that stripped bolt on cause the engine to fracture on the side and be exposed to every spark under the hood,” Jean says, dragging a hand through his hair. “The whole front of the car exploded. He’s got three degree burns on his face and chest. He’s gonna need countless surgeries. Sasha, we could be over our heads in debt.”

“We can’t take this to trial?” Sasha asks, fear creeping into her voice. “The guy was drunk; the accident was completely his fault. Why are we even liable?”

“He’s responsible for the person he crashed into, but we’re liable for his injuries. We repaired that car.”

“I repaired it,” Sasha responds, grabbing Jean’s shoulders. “I’ll pay for it. Just make me liable.”

“You know my mother won’t do that. You’re considered family,” Jean says, giving her a sad look. He’s no longer mad at her, just upset by the situation. Ewrin is here, talking to his mother in the lobby. His presence casts a calming sensation over Jacklyn, but Jean can still feel the tension radiating off her from where he stands. Connie is across the garage, working on a Toyota and watching Jean and Sasha out of the corner of his eye. He looks worried, more for Sasha than the state of City-Bound. Jean understands why. Even if Jacklyn takes this case full on and doesn’t force Sasha to fight it alone, Sasha could still very well be fired. She’ll have cost the company thousands. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers now. “I’m so sorry.”

“Go in there and give your statement,” Jean said, hating how he sounded like a police officer. It reminded him on the night an officer knocked on his front door with sad eyes and asked him where his mommy was. He shook the memory out. “And then go home. We can’t allow you to work while we’re under investigation.”  
Sasha walked away without another word. Jean was thankful for that. Anymore, and he might blow up on her again. He heard the sound of a car lifter and turned to see Connie lowering his Toyota. 

“All done,” he calls out to be heard over the machine. Jean can only nod and look out Door #1. He thoughts were crowded with the image of his mother getting the call this morning, hearing  
City-Bound was under investigation. She was distraught, the idea of getting shut down unbearable. Jean had taken one look at her and called Ewrin, the only one to get through to Jacklyn besides himself. He was so mad at Sasha his vision got red when he thought of her and her careless mistake. He didn’t know what he would do if City-Bound was closed down. Or even if they were left in such huge debt. People would have to be let go, pay would have to be lowered. Jean thought of Eren, who was due to start a shift in thirty minutes. He wouldn’t have any chance of supporting Mikasa if his pay was lowered. God damn you, Sasha. 

And then, as if by magic, everything melts when a lime green shirt and freckled face swung into the parking lot. Marco hops off the bike without braking, running next to it for a beat before it stops ten feet in front of Jean. The mechanic lets out a breath, his shoulders dropping. But Marco tenses at the sight of Jean. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks, letting the bike rest on its side on the ground. His eyebrows crinkle together and he walks up to Jean. “You look terrible.”

“Nice to see you too, dipshit,” Jean says, but his voice lacks any salt. He rubs the back of his neck, avoiding Marco’s concerned stare. “It’s been a rough day.”

“It’s not even two in the afternoon.”

“Yeah, don’t rub it in,” Jean says, chuckling lightly. But Marco doesn’t even smile. Jean wants to sit down and tell him everything, literally every single thing that has happened within the last two hours. And he’s going to, he even opens his mouth and gets ready when Connie interrupts them.

“Hello?” the almost bald teen asks, coming up behind Jean. “Who are you?”

“Oh, I’m Marco,” Marco says, holding his hand out. Connie shakes it firmly, before clapping a hand on Jean’s back. 

“Please tell you didn’t fire her,” he says. Jean shakes his head. Connie sighs with relief. 

“She’s not off the hook, man,” Jean says, shaking off Connie’s hand. “She’s put us in a really shitty situation. One we’re all going to pay for.”

“Oh please,” Connie says. “Her dad will pay off any debt.”

“You really think her dad’s gonna stand up for this repair shop, when the lawyers are coming after us and not Sasha?” Jean asks, narrowing his eyes at Connie. “Face it, we’re all screwed.”

“Hey guys.”

All three of their heads snapped up to see Armin walking through Door #1. The blonde is smiling, but it quickly fades when he got closer to the others. 

“What’s going on?”

“Where’s Eren?” Jean asks, ignoring Armin’s question. The blonde falters.

“He’s…he’s with Mikasa. She needed an emergency surgery. He um..” he lowers his voice and locks eyes with Jean, as if he can block out the other two people standing there. “He knows this is his last free vacation day. He understands what this means from now on.” Jean groans inwardly. Eren has no idea what this means. 

“But I wanted to come anyways,” Armin says now. “If that’s okay?”

“Actually,” Jean says, rubbing his eyes. “It’s not. Not today. Connie—“ Jean turns to his coworker. “Go home. We’re closing early today. Armin, go sit with Eren in the hospital. Marco—“ the  
freckled boy looks at Jean expectantly. Jean pauses. “Just wait here.”  
Jean walks away and helps Connie clean up his area, along with Sasha’s and the Convertible still sitting in slot #1. At one point, he glances over his shoulder and sees Armin hasn’t left yet.  
Instead, he’s standing and talking to Marco. Jean doesn’t even have the energy to wonder why. After Connie closed Doors #2 and #3 and leaves, Jean heads back over to where Marco is standing. He’s waving goodbye to Armin. 

“Do you know him?” Jean asks. 

“Yeah,” Marco says, turning to Jean, his smile still on his face. “We were in Physics together last year.”

Jean stops. “So we did go to High School together.”

“Everyone went to High School together,” Marco responds, shrugging at Jean. “It just doesn’t feel like it. I mean, there were two separate graduation ceremonies for Christ’s sake.”

“Well, there were over 700 hundred of us,” Jean counters. “I can’t blame them.”

“I can,” Marco said. “You didn’t even recognize me.”

Jean stops cold. “I…did you…what?”

Marco laughs. It’s the first time today Jean has heard someone laugh, and he couldn’t be happier it was Marco’s. His laugh is a little wheezy, a little lighter than his speaking voice. The corners of Jean’s mouth always turn up when he hears it. That can’t be a god sign. A laugh shouldn’t have the kind of power over someone. 

“I recognized you. Granted, we never had any classes together, and we didn’t walk the stage on the same day, but I recognized you.”

“I’m sorry,” Jean says, shaking his head. “I didn’t recognize you.”

“Well, there were over 700 hundred of us,” Marco says, shooting Jean another happy grin. This time Jean can return it, and Marco’s cheeks flare pink. “Now,” Marco says, turning to face Jean. 

“What on earth is going on with your shop?”

Jean heads to the couch. Marco follows him. And Jean tells him everything.


	7. Pizzzaaaa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok, this one's a little longer cause the next few might be kinda short. Anywaysss Marco meets the whole fam aint that nice :) Some other stuff happens, but the gist is Jean and Marco be cute as hell

His arms ache and his back is screaming at him. He could tell the others were in just as bad shape, but he didn’t dare tear his eyes away from the greasy floor. The dragon is standing in the doorway, his hands on his hips and fire blazing in his eyes. 

“Faster!” He barks, and every fiber in Jean’s body tells him to straighten up and throw the mop down. But he did nothing except re-dunk the cleaning tool in the bucket of soapy water and continue mopping the floor. 

It had been almost two weeks since the accident involving Sasha’s stripped bolt. City-Bound was under serious investigation. The drunken driver, Mr. Dubvery, had lawyers throwing law suit after law suit at the repair shop. Most of the complaints consisted around the idea that Sasha was only nineteen. She shouldn’t have been allowed to work on someone’s vehicle, and not only was she solely responsible for the accident (complete bullshit) but City-Bound was liable for hiring such inexperienced workers (more bullshit). Jacklyn spent at least four hours daily on the phone with lawyers, investigators, and clients. Despite the shop being under investigation (For shit’s sake it was all over the news), people continued bringing their cars in. City-Bound was the only repair shop within the city. If someone needed a fix-up and wasn’t willing to come here, they would need to drive an hour and half out of the city to Busted Chains, the next closest repair shop. 

However, despite the fact that Jacklyn wasn’t angry with Sasha (Jean carried that burden for her), she did expect every employee to step up in her absence. This included taking on more cars, keeping the shop open later, and, apparently, cleaning the garage. But since Jacklyn still could not stand the smell of oil or the black under all the employee’s fingernails, she had sent Ewrin to order Jean and the others around. 

Hence the dragon standing in the doorway. 

“Put your backs into it!” Ewrin yells now. 

“I’ll ram this mop through your back if you keep yelling at me,” Jean mumbles, making Eren laugh. He was nearest to Jean at this point, standing under a car lifter and tweaking an air conditioning compartment. Jean glances up and grins at him, but they quickly look away when Ewrin shouts again. After another ten minutes, he leaves to get another cup of coffee and chat with Jacklyn. He doesn’t say this, but Jean knows that’s why he’s leaving. As soon as the door swings shut, Jean straightens and stretches his back out. He hears an awful crack and yelps. Eren laughs again. 

“Is this how it ends,” Connie says, halfway across the garage. He’s on his knees scrubbing out oil stains with a wire sponge. “On our hands and knees like peasants?”

“What are you talking about?” Armin calls from his place in Door #3. He’s washing the headlights of a Jeep Wrangler. Jean still cannot believe he’s here, offering his services without pay just to spend time with Eren. Then again, considering their relationship, maybe this isn’t so surprising. 

“I can feel the blood seeping through my jeans,” Connie cries, gesturing towards his knees. Jean admits to himself Connie’s been on the ground for almost the entire morning. It must have been painful. Connie slumps forward. “I’m going to bleed out. I’ll be dead before nightfall.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Eren says, starting to lower the car down.

“Just be thankful he gave you a sponge and not a toothbrush,” Jean says, dunking the mop back into the bucket. Just before Jean pulls the mop out of the bucket, he hears the sound of bike tires squealing up the parking lot. His head snaps up, more shocked by how tuned in he is to the sound than the sight of Marco riding up into the garage. 

“Wait!” 

Marco brakes just outside the door, turning the handlebars so he’s horizontally aligned. He cocks his head at Armin, who has shouted at him.

“Don’t ride in here, Jean’s spent all morning mopping the floor,” Armin tells Marco, who makes a face like “Oh.”

“Who are you?” Eren asks, and Jean realizes Eren still hasn’t met Marco. While he was once against the idea, now Jean simply asks for Marco to hop off his bike and come inside. Marco obeys after a moment of hesitation, kicking the kick stand down and wiping his forehead. He waves at Connie, who nods his head and smiles at the freckle boy. Connie and Marco have already met, on more than one occasion. Usually, Connie asks Marco about his bike and his job, trying to find out if he knows any of Marco’s coworkers. Jean once caught him asking Marco if he’d deliver flowers to Sasha’s house, but forgot to ask Marco if he agreed. Now, Marco walks up and holds his hand out for Eren to shake. 

“Marco Bott,” he says simply, giving Eren a gentle smile. Eren pulls off one greasy glove and shakes Marco’s hand. He squints at Marco. Jean starts to sweat. 

“Did we take European History together?” Eren asks, and Marco’s smile breaks open. 

“Yeah!” he says excitedly. “Tenth grade?” 

“Oh yeah,” Eren says, returning Marco’s smile. Jean internally sighs with relief. He didn’t realize how much he was hoping Marco and Eren would get along. Then again, he never imagined Marco meeting any of his friends when the messenger boy first rode into the shop. 

“Hey,” Marco says now, catching Jean’s attention. “Can you help me out?”

“With what?” 

“One of my brakes is broken again.”

Jean almost, almost smiles. Just hearing Marco say that makes Jean think of their first night spent together in the garage after he pulled a piece of loose gravel out of Marco’s brakes. He can tell Marco is thinking of it too, but doesn’t say anything. He follows Marco over to his bike, forgetting about the others and even Ewrin, who should have come back in by now. He watches as Marco tries squeezing one of his brakes and the metal piece almost falls off. 

“It’s just loose, you idiot,” Jean says, walking away from him towards the tool box. He pulls a small screwdriver from one of the drawers and heads back over. Within seconds, he’s tightened the brake back into place. Marco squeezes the piece again, and smiles, seeing the brakes press against the back tire like they’re supposed to. 

“Thanks,” he says, smiling at Jean, who smiles back. 

“I’m sorry, but this is pretty fucked up,” Eren says suddenly, causing Marco and Jean to turn away from each other and peer back into the garage. “Where’s Sasha? She should be cleaning the floors.”

“She’s on suspension,” Jean says, walking back into the garage. He hopes Marco follows, and feels a small twinge of happiness when he hears Freckles footsteps behind him. “Mom can’t have her working until this whole thing blows over.”

“I’m not saying we should have her repairing cars,” Eren says, gesturing towards the mop bucket and Connie on the floor. “But what about all this cleaning we’ve been doing? She’s the reason we’re in this position.”

“She feels bad enough,” Armin says, coming up behind Eren. Jean sees Connie move behind them. “She doesn’t need to be here with people mad at her.”

“Hasn’t she offered to pay off the law suits? That’s pretty generous of her,” Marco offers, glancing at Jean like he’s worried he’s over stepping. But Jean only shifts closer to him, hoping to send the message he doesn’t mind if Marco speaks. If Eren becomes annoyed Jean shared the situation with someone else he can take it up with Jean, not Marco. 

“Yeah, but she should still be here washing the fucking floors with the rest of us,” Eren says, rolling his eyes. “Not sitting on her ass in her mansion.”

Jean didn’t see Connie throw the sponge. He only sees the sponge, flying through the air and knocking into Eren’s head. Armin yelps as water sputters from the sponge over the three others. Marco, god bless him, actually laughs, wiping water from his face and looking down at his lime green shirt, now splattered with water. Jean looks down at his own shirt, lightly splatter with water. He brushes at his neck, which caught a drop or two. Eren, the back of his head completely soaked, cries out in anger and turns around. Connie stands with one hand on his hip, the other holding the bucket of water he’d been using to scrub the floor in the other. He glares at Eren, and raises his pointer finger at the brunette. 

“Say one more shit thing about my girlfriend, and I’ll throw the bucket too.”

Eren goes to do just that, his mouth opening and his hand raised, but Marco cuts him off. 

“She got the flowers?” He asks Connie. Jean looks at Marco in confusion, but Freckles is staring at Connie with bright eyes. Connie smiles. 

“Every pickup line I’ve used was pointless against those roses.”

“You and Sasha are dating?” Armin asks, his own face beaming. Connie sighs happily, nods. 

“About fucking time,” Jean says, clapping Eren on the back, silently telling him to drop the subject. He couldn’t complain about Sasha’s mistake with Connie here. He wouldn’t hear it. Jean wouldn’t either. He was mad enough at Sasha, he didn’t need Eren saying everything he was thinking in his head. At that moment, with Marco high fiving Connie and Eren shaking his head out, Ewrin walks back in. Jean, fearing he might yell at them for slacking off, notices the grin on his face. He bounds down the steps towards the teenagers. 

“Your mother just got off the phone with our lawyer,” he says to Jean, smiling so hard Jean’s worried his face might break in half. “All the charges have been dropped. We don’t have to pay a dime.”

“Are you serious?” Jean asks, as Eren and Connie start whooping so loud Armin and Marco cover their ears. Connie actually dumps the bucket over his head like an animal. Ewrin just laughs. 

“Yes,” he says, grabbing Jean’s shoulders and pulling him in for a hug. “City-Bound is off the edge. We’re going to be fine.”

Jean sighs heavily, all the worry and weight he’d been carrying for the past week and a half falling off his shoulders. City-Bound was safe. The worry lines would disappear from around his mother’s eyes, and they might actually get some sleep tonight for once. He wraps his arms around Ewrin for a moment before they both let go. Ewrin looked at the others. He didn’t even ask who Marco was. 

“Jacklyn has invited you all over tonight,” he says, crashing Jean’s mood for a brief moment. “She’s ordering a pizza from every shop in the city. Connie, invite Sasha, I’m sure she’s missed us as much as we miss her.”

“Maybe some of us more than others,” Eren says, throwing Connie a look. Connie hits Eren in the shoulder, but the smile doesn’t leave his face. “Hey, can Armin come?” Eren asks suddenly, making Armin blush. 

“Bring whoever, it’s not like we’re gonna run out of food,” Ewrin says, before turning and heading back into the lobby. Jean wants to run in after him and hug his mother, but a thought grabs him as he watches Armin and Eren smile at each other. He turns to Marco, who has started walking back towards his bike. Jean follows him, intent on asking him to come tonight for pizza. 

“I’ve got a few more deliveries to make,” Marco says, shooting Jean a smile and mounting his bike. 

Jean takes a hard swallow, feels a surge of confidence and opens his mouth. 

“Hey Marco! You should come tonight!” Connie shouts from back in the garage. Marco looks over Jean’s shoulder, so he doesn’t see the flash of anger that crosses the mechanic’s face. But he recovers before Marco looks back at him. 

“Uh…” he starts, eyeing Jean. “I don’t know—“

“You should come,” Jean says, but even he can hear how flippant he is about it. “My mom would love to have you. And you can actually meet Sasha.”

Marco hesitates. Jean can already picture him declining the offer, but then he nods. 

“Okay,” he says softly, not looking Jean in the eyes. “What time?”

“Come back around 7,” Connie says, popping up behind Jean. “Jean-y here will letcha in.” Jean’s face becomes hot, and he elbows Connie in the stomach. The bald kid grunts and slumps off. 

“I’ll see you then,” Marco says, still not looking at Jean. He rides off before Jean can answer him. 

(Break thingy)

Jean stood in front of Door #1, wearing clean jeans and a red t-shirt. Marco had never seen him in anything other than his work shirt and black cargo pants, and he wondered if Marco would be wearing his lime green shirt or something else. 

Jacklyn had been thrilled when Jean told her a new friend of his would be joining everyone tonight. Though, her excitement faltered when she found out she would be the last one to meet Marco. Especially since Ewrin had already met him, though he hasn’t asked for his name. 

“He likes pizza right?” she asked Jean, pulling plates from the cupboard. Ewrin was already sitting at the kitchen table, and Eren and Armin were playing war with a deck of cards in the small living room. Connie had left to pick up Sasha. It was almost seven. 

“He’s a teenage boy,” Eren called from his spot in the living room. “We all like pizza.”

Now, Jean sighs and glances at the clock on the wall in the garage. It is ten minutes past seven. Connie had arrived earlier with Sasha, who shrieked and jumped on Jean when she saw him. He couldn’t deny he was happy to see her either. Despite how angry he’d been, he was glad she wasn’t getting fired. 

Just as Jean is turning away from the clock, Marco appears from down the street, pedaling towards the garage. Jean sucks in a breath looking at him. Marco is wearing tan shorts and a white t-shirt. The shirt makes him look even tanner than he already is, especially compared to Jean. He pedals up to the Door and hops off the bike. 

“Are you going to close the Door?” he asks, looking at Jean with wide eyes. “Can I put my bike inside?”

Jean nods, stepping aside so Marco can push the bike forward. Jean heads for the control panel, flipping the arrow down and closing Door #1. 

“Sorry I’m a little late,” Marco says, parking the bike near one of the couches. Jean walks up behind him. “My last delivery was farther out that I expected and I figured I should go home and change and then—“

“Freckles,” Jean cuts him off, touching his shoulder. Marco freezes, looking over his shoulder at Jean. “It’s fine. It’s not a reservation. It’s pizza.”

Marco throws him a grateful smile, like Jean just said exactly what Marco needed to hear. His hand stayed on Marco’s shoulder, both of them ignoring it, until Jacklyn voice broke through the silence.

“Is your friend here yet?!” Jean led Marco up the stairs. 

“I still can’t believe you live right above where you work,” Marco comments shaking his head. “That’s just crazy.”

“Maybe to you,” Jean says. “Your office is the entire city of Trost. Mine’s just…an extension of home.”

Sasha is the first to spot Marco as he and Jean walk in, and she loves him on sight. Jumping from her spot on the floor of the living room, she collides into the freckle boy, nearly knocking him over. 

“Hi!” she shouts into his ear. Marco looks so frazzled Jean has to stiffen his laugh. Over Sasha’s shoulder, Marco glares at Jean, but this only makes him laugh harder. “Nice to meet you!”

“It’s nice to meet you too,” Marco says breathlessly, wrapping his arms around her for a moment. She releases him, but grabs his hand as she does and leads him to the kitchen. 

“Come meet our boss!” She cries, shoving Marco into the kitchen where Jacklyn is standing, talking to Ewrin. 

“Hello,” Jacklyn says, holding her hand out for Marco. He takes it smiling. 

“I’m Marco,” he says, and Jacklyn’s smile reaches her eyes. 

“Hungry?”

“Starved,” he answers, following her around the table towards the multiple boxes of pizzas sitting on the counter. Sasha goes to stand next to Jean. 

“He’s cute,” she says. Jean balks. 

“What?” he asks. 

“I said he’s cute.”

“So?” Jean sputters, looking around wildly to see if anyone else heard her. Sasha looks him up and down. 

“Jesus, man, don’t have an aneurysm,” she says, smirking at him. “I’m just making an observation.” Jean doesn’t say answer her. “How’d you meet him?”

Suddenly Jean is dumbfounded. No one, not Connie, not Armin, not even Eren, has asked him this question. There has always been an understanding that if a City-Bound employee liked someone, they were welcomed by all. It had been that way when Jacklyn recruited Ewrin to help around, when Eren brought Armin into the garage, and now with Marco. No one had bothered asking, because no one had really cared. As long as Jean was cool with Marco hanging around, everyone else was cool with it. 

“He almost ran me over with his bike and I cursed him out.”

“How smooth,” Sasha said, and Jean smacked her arm. 

The night went as well as Jean could have hoped. Marco stuck mostly to his side in the beginning, then ventured off and chatted with Armin and Eren about High School and science and mechanics. Jean played darts with Connie and Sasha, glancing behind him every so often to make sure Marco wasn’t by himself. He never was. Jean also noticed how Jacklyn and Ewrin stayed glued at the hip, but was mature enough to stay out of his mother’s business. He wouldn’t ask her about Ewrin. If it had been any other guy, Jean would have stormed over and asked for elbow space, but it was Ewrin. He couldn’t have asked for better. 

Around ten o’clock, everyone is starting to putter out. Connie and Sasha leave first, Sasha kissing Jacklyn’s cheek and thanking her for everything with tears in her eyes. Eren informs everyone he needs to walk Armin home and the two leave shortly after. Jacklyn and Ewrin, surprisingly, inform Jean that they are going down the street to a small bar for a few more drinks. 

“I’ll be back later tonight,” Jacklyn tells Jean, dragging a hand through his hair. Ewrin nods at Jean, a silent understanding between the two of them. 

And so, of course, Jean is left with Marco alone. In his house. Great. As soon as the door closes behind his mother, Jean turns, expecting to see Marco standing behind him, but freckle face is nowhere to be seen. 

“Marco?” he calls. He’s probably in the bathroom. Jean moves towards the hall and looks down it, expecting to see the bathroom light on. But instead, at the end of the hall, he sees Marco standing in the middle of his bedroom.

“What the fuck are you doing in here?” Jean demands, storming down the hall and into his room. But Marco didn’t even look at the mechanic. 

“I didn’t peg you for a football player.”

Jean followed Marco’s eyes. Hanging on his wall is a framed picture of him, Reiner. They were wearing their school football uniforms, and Jean was holding a football in his hands. Below the picture, on his desk, is an actual football. 

“I’m not,” Jean says. 

“Looks like you are,” Marco says, turning and look around the room. Jean notices, almost for the first time, how many trophies and pictures he has from his time as a football player. Jean’s final season was his senior year. He hasn’t even touched the ball on his desk in almost a year. 

“Well I’m not,” he says, and something in his voice signals Marco to stop pressing. So Freckles looks at him instead. 

“It was nice of Connie to invite me,” he says, giving Jean a small smile.

“He just beat me to it,” Jean says without thinking. Immediately, Marco’s cheeks turn bright pink. This makes Jean’s face feel hot. He’s not flirting, he’s just…being honest. 

“Well,” Marco says. “It was nice of you too.”

They stare at each other, cheeks pink and chests puffing in and out. Just staring. Until Jean loses his composure, and his eyes, unwittingly, drop to Marco’s mouth. 

“I should go,” Marco says suddenly, rounding on Jean and walking back into the hall. “It was nice to meet everyone. Your mom is really kind.”

Jean stands in his room for another half second, trying to process what just happened. He centers himself finally, walking into the hallways and towards the door. 

“I can find my way out,” Marco offers, but Jean shakes his head. 

“You biked here, I have to close the garage door after you leave.”

“Oh,” Marco says, clearly upset Jean and him will have to spend another minute together. At least, that what it seems like. 

Annoyed, Jean turns the knob and walks down the steps toward the garage. He hears Marco following him. Without turning around again, he heads into the garage and towards the control panel of Door #1. Marco stops to grab his bike, then meets Jean as the Door is opening. They stand in silence, both looking at into the night. As soon as the door opens fully, Jean waits for Marco to hop on his bike and ride away. But Marco stays where he is in Jean’s peripheral vision. And then, before Jean has any time to react, Marco leans over and kisses Jean’s cheek. So soft, Jean almost thinks he imagined it. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” Marco asks, climbing on his bike and pedaling out a few feet. 

“Yeah,” Jean says without thinking. “Tomorrow.”

Marco smiles. And again, too fast for Jean to react, pedals away into the night.


	8. Don't be such a beach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok first off, i have to apologize to anyone joining me again. I've been gone a long time, and I've kind of lost how i wanted to write and mold these characters, and I'm trying to find my way again, but it might be a lil sloppy but just bear with me. I gotz dis  
> Honestly I'm more disgusted by the chapter title than anything else. Okkk so my boiz Reiner and Bertoldt are back hollaa, but they cause some ruckus between Marco and Jean. Eren steps tf up like a real cool cat, ya gotta appreciate him

As soon as he cranks the wrench another time he regrets it. The compartment overheats from being tightened too hard, too fast, and smoke starts billowing out from the sides. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Jean curses, rolling out from under the 2005 Toyota minivan and sucking in clean air. He takes a deep breath before rolling back under, loosening the screw and pausing. 

It was totally unsafe for him to wait under the car like this, hoping the smoke would stop and everything would be fine, but he couldn’t help himself. He had to see the recovery with his own eyes. 

Thankfully, finally, the smoke stops. Jean sighs in relief, and continues working. After another half hour, the job is finished and he rolls back out for the last time. 

“Done?” Eren calls over. He’s rolling an enormous tire towards the pickup truck in Door #2. His hair is incredibly messy, and Jean almost makes a comment on it, but he doesn’t have the energy. The minivan took a lot out of him. He and Eren are the only ones working today. 

“Done,” Jean answers, wiping his forehead with a towel and reaching for the cleaning fluid bottle. He might as well wash the van down now while he has the time. Then he could take a break before his next appointment at three. 

“Marco came by while you were under.”

Jean freezes, dropping the bottle of cleaning solution. It’d been a few days since Marco had joined him and the others for pizza upstairs in Jean and his mother’s apartment. Neither Marco nor Jean had mentioned the kiss Marco had given Jean on the cheek, and Marco had not given Jean another kiss since. Jean was glad. Not because he didn’t like the kiss, the fact that he liked the kiss scared him the most. 

“He what?”

“Stopped by,” Eren says over his shoulder. He’s started the process of attaching the tire to the pickup. “But he saw you were working and left.”

“Why didn’t you pull me out?” Jean asks, suddenly frustrated. Marco had come by, just like he always did, and for the first time ever Jean wasn’t there. Well he was, but more preoccupied than he’d ever been before. Eren threw Jean a funny look. Jean understood why, but Eren said it out loud anyways.

“It’s your golden rule to not pull you out when you’re under a car.”

“I know,” Jean grumbles, not liking how Eren was looking at him. It was true, Jean became incensed when someone pulled him out from under a car, for any reason. The fact that he was actually angry at the moment for not being pulled out, and for Marco of all people, was surprising to say the least. “Did you tell him to come back?”

“No,” Eren says, the funny look not leaving his face. “Why are you so upset? You’ll probably see him tomorrow.”

Jean couldn’t admit to Eren that just hearing those words, that he “might” see Marco tomorrow, was hard enough to hear on their own. Let alone adding to the fact that Jean probably wouldn’t see Marco today. He didn’t like a change in routine, and whether he’d planned it or not, Marco had become part of his routine. 

“Right,” Jean tells Eren, turning away and starting to clean the hood of the minivan. His thoughts are over-flooded with Freckles. Would he come back today? Was he just as flustered by not seeing Jean as Jean was by not seeing Marco? 

A friendly voice broke through his thoughts, and although he looked up hoping to see Marco, he wasn’t disappointed by the faces he saw. 

“Reiner!” he shouts, opening his arms as the big guy barrels forward into them. Bertoldt is following close behind, and gives Jean a happy clap on the back as Reiner is letting go. “What are you guys doing here?”

“Bored as fuck,” Reiner says, placing his hands on his hips. Bertoldt shakes his head with a smile on his face at Reiner’s shoulder. “So, let’s head to the beach.”

“The beach?” Jean questions, raising his eyebrows. “You realize you came in the middle of the day right? I can’t leave.”

“Take a long lunch.” Reiner counters. 

“Bitch, I already took a lunch,” Jean says, but he’s not annoyed. He’s flattered, warmed even that his friends want to spend time with him. So much has happened over the last few weeks he, once again, forgot to stay in touch with him. He’s a shit friend. 

“We can come back after you close,” Bertoldt offers, and Jean is grateful for him. “We just wanted to see if you’d be up to do anything.”

“Of course I am,” Jean says. 

“Eren, you can come too,” Reiner calls, surprising everyone but Bertoldt. Eren balks for a second, too shocked by the invite to answer right away. “Can I take your silence as a yes?”

“No,” Eren says, shaking his head and sorting himself out. “Sorry. Thanks, for the invite, really. But Mikasa is starting new medication today. I should be there.”

No one was going to argue with that. Bertoldt and Reiner nod respectively, and Jean locks eyes with Eren. The silent message is clear. ‘If you need anything, let me know.’ The corner of Eren’s mouth twitches, before he turns around and retreats to grab another tire. 

“So how the fuck have you been?” Reiner asks Jean. “We haven’t heard from you.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Jean says. He launches into the story of Sasha’s stripped bolt and almost getting the shop closed. Even though this was recent, and it doesn’t excuse all the other times Jean could have called either one of them, he feels the need to tell them, to have some decent backup. 

“That’s messed up,” Bertoldt says when Jean’s finished. “Can you imagine if some dumb drunk got this placed closed? Trost would riot.”

“Exactly what I was gonna say, Bertie,” Reiner agrees, shaking his head, a disgusted look on his face. “Point me in the direction of this guy, Jean-y boy.”

“The guy with his face burned off? No, I think he’s had enough.” Jean says, too thankful for their support than anything else. “What have you guys been doing since you’ve been home?”

“Finger-painting, what else?”

“I’m serious, jackass,” Jean says, slapping Bertoldt’s shoulder. The tall kid chuckles. 

“Seriously? I’ve enrolled in summer classes and Reiner’s at the gym ten hours a day. What else did you expect?”

“Why the fuck are you taking summer classes?” Jean questions. 

“Because I can’t say no to my mother,” Bertoldt groans. “If she thinks it’s a good idea, then you better believe I’m doing whatever it is.”

“Well I overheard your mother she thought it was a good idea for you to get a bikin wax,” Reiner says. “So we might as well put that on the schedule for tomorrow.” Jean and Bertoldt are howling with laughter, leaning on each other for support. 

“Jean?” a soft voice peeks through the garage. Reiner and Bertoldt turn, and through their shoulders Jean can see Marco standing in the open archway of Door #1. He had said Jean’s name, but his eyes were switching between Bertoldt and Reiner. Jean didn’t have to wonder why. Marco was seeing them for the first time. Reiner could probably bench press Marco, and Bertoldt was like an oak tree standing next to Freckles. 

Even though part of him was happy, thrilled even, to see Marco and know that yes, if Marco missed him the first time he stopped by, he’d come back and try again, his stomach has turned to lead. Reiner is looking Marco up and down like he’s piece of ribeye standing in the doorway, and Marco physically pales under his stare. Bertoldt simply turns to look back at Jean and raises his eyebrows. Jean knew that as time went on and Marco was spending more and more time around the garage, he would eventually meet the rest of the crew, including his mother. But he had never, never, planned on introducing Marco to his best friends since Middle School.

Fuck it to hell.

“Guys,” Jean says slowly, already expecting their reactions, and not at all prepared for them. “This my friend Marco.”

“Lot of freckles on that face.”

Bertoldt smirks at Reiner’s comment, and Marco’s face grows red but he manages to grin. Jean scowls, but suddenly he can’t tell who he’s more angry at. Reiner didn’t need to make band handed comments, but nobody had ever taken Reiner seriously when he jabbed at others. But Marco, he could have seen Jean was still busy and rode away. Why had he bothered coming to the front and calling for him? 

“Did we go to High School together?” Bertoldt asks Marco now, who nods his head. But Jean can see he’s slowly getting back on his bike. Thank God. This meeting is awkward and cringey and   
Jean just wants it to be over with before Reiner sticks his foot in his mouth. 

Too late. 

“Anyways, we can go to the beach after your shift,” Reiner starts, turning back to Jean. He jabs a thumb over his shoulder. “You can bring your boyfriend.”

There’s a loud thump behind all of them as Eren drops his tire on the ground. Jean’s scowl deepens, and Eren clears his throat and hurriedly goes to pick up the tire. By the time Jean turns around, Marco is fully on his bike. He’s looking straight at Jean. 

“Nice meeting you guys,” he says. “I should go.” 

“Yeah,” Jean says, furious with everyone within twenty feet of him. “You should.”

Marco kicks back the kickstand and pedals away, lime green shirt whipping in the wind. The embarrassment is already weighing down on Jean. Fuck Reiner. He turns to the guy. 

“Fuck you.” 

“Oh, relax,” Reiner says, but behind his shoulder Bertoldt’s smirk is fading off his face. Probably because there’s steam rolling out of Jean’s head like a god damn cartoon. “I’m only messing.”

But Jean has already had enough for the day. He’s suddenly in the worst mood. Bertoldt reads him like a children’s book and places a hand on Reiner’s shoulder. Reiner, finally understanding he’s crossed a line, and not for the first time, retreats along with his tall friend. Right before they’re about to disappear from sight down the road, he turns around.   
“We’re still coming back tonight!” he calls to Jean. “If you wanna come, we’ll be here!” And just like that, a little chunk of the anger slips away. 

Jean’s not gay. He’s not. He’s dated girls his whole life, since he was handing out dandelions in kindergarten to the prettiest girl in his class to asking out his Prom date. He’s never looked at a guy’s ass, he’s never winked at a guy across the bar, he’s never flirted with the young male customers like he sometimes does with the female ones. At least, he used to. He hasn’t in a while. But not many have come in recently…he thinks. 

Marco was fucking up his whole system. With his god damn freckles and tousled hair and tan skin and what the fuck else. Jean couldn’t deny the way his eyes followed Marco when he walked around the garage, or biked down the street. He couldn’t brush aside the pounding in his ears whenever Marco got a little too close to him as he inspected an engine or washed a headlight. And there was no he was going to be able to ignore the way his eyes had drifted down to Marco’s lips the other night in his room, or the way his skin still-still-felt warm where Marco had kissed his cheek.

But he was trying. He was trying so hard to ignore it and he was failing because Marco just kept coming around. And Jean couldn’t tell him to stay away, he couldn’t resist asking Marco to come back the next day because he. Just. Couldn’t. But the last thing Jean needed or even wanted was Reiner and Bertoldt walking around thinking their oldest friend was gay, especially when he didn’t even know it himself. 

No. He did know it. He wasn’t gay. 

So then why, when he had a million other things to think about, like his next three appointments, his mind just kept flashing pictures of Marco through his brain. Maybe it was foreshadowing. 

Almost all the chunks of anger have slipped away, until Jean looks up from his last car of the day and sees Marco riding back up the parking lot. Fucking hell. Jean glances at Eren, who’s been completely immersed in a Ford Mustang since four o’clock, and still is. Tossing his waxing towel down, Jean meets Marco halfway, stepping into the fading light outside the garage. For some reason, he really cannot place it, he doesn’t want Marco coming inside the garage right now. 

“Hey,” Marco says slowly, easing the bike to a stop just in front of Jean. 

“Why are you here.” Jean says, fully aware how bitter he sounds. Marco tries to ignore it.

“You seemed kind of upset when I left,” Marco starts. You seemed upset, Jean wants to say, but keeps his mouth shut. “I just wanted to make sure you were good.”

Jean suddenly realizes why he doesn’t want Marco in the garage. Because right now, Marco is the embodiment of Jean’s stress, his anger, his confusion. Whenever Jean fought with Eren or Connie or Sasha, he always tried doing it in the back of the lobby or outside in the parking lot. The garage was sacred place in Jean’s eyes, it was his holy ground. He hated having it tarnished by ugly thoughts and hateful words. That’s why he blew a pipeline every time he found Connie and Eren arguing inside. Not because he was worried about a customer hearing, but because they were being disrespectful within the garage. None of them felt the way he did however, and trying to explain was pointless. But for now, at least, he could keep Marco outside. 

“I’m fine,” Jean says, checking behind him. Eren either hasn’t noticed Marco yet, or is pretending to ignore them. 

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, you can leave now.” 

Marco is taken aback, the wheels actually spin backwards a little as he flinches. Jean immediately feels bad, but just looking at Marco brings Reiner’s comment flooding back to surface, when he had almost succeeded in drowning it in engine oil and waxing grease. 

“What the hell is the matter with you?” Marco asks now, narrowing his eyes at Jean. “Who even were those guys? I’ve never seen them before.”

“Reiner and Bertoldt have been my best friends for years,” Jean defends himself and his friends. 

“Look, I just kind of realized how weird this is,” Jean says, not looking at Marco. Instead, he focuses on the different colored window panels on the apartments across the street. Black and pink and blue and—

“What’s weird?” Marco asks, so genuinely confused Jean tries screaming at himself to stop, but another part of him is in control of his mouth at the moment. 

“You coming here all the time,” Jean says. “You’re here every day, and it’s not like you’re getting a car fixed, or trying to learn like Armin…you’re just here. It’s weird.”

Marco is silent. Jean knows by saying Armin’s name he’s thrown out all hope that Eren isn’t listening to them. But it doesn’t matter. Not anymore anyways. 

“Shit,” Marco starts, then swallows. “I thought we were friends.” When Jean doesn’t answer him, doesn’t even look at him, Marco clears his throat. “Right, okay, got it.” He pedals away. Jean finally looks up to watch him leave. As Marco’s figure gets smaller in his view, his stomach slowly starts to drop.

“Turn around,” he mutters under his breath. “Fuck, turn around.” But he doesn’t. He just keeps pedaling down the street, until Jean can’t see him anymore from where he’s standing. He sighs. 

When Jean turns around, he almost collides with Eren. 

“Jesus fuck!” Jean sputters, jumping back, further out into the parking lot. “God, I should get you a bell for your neck.”

“Are we gonna talk about that?”

“No,” Jean says immediately, shoving past Eren. 

“Am I not seeing something?” Eren shouts, following right behind him back into the garage. “Why did Reiner call Marco your boyfriend? Why did you basically just kick Marco out?”

“I did not kick him out,” Jean says, not turning around. “He doesn’t live or work here, I haven’t kicked him out of anything.”

“Are you gay?”

“NO,” Jean says, spinning around on Eren and getting in his face, just like he used to before he and Eren became friends. In the back of his mind he’s trying to get his feet moving, move the fight out of the garage, but there isn’t time. “No, alright, Jesus Christ, Marco is nothing, we barely know each other, I’m not gay and he’s not my boyfriend. Alright?” Jean barks, glaring at Eren. But Eren doesn’t falter. He, just like they used to, gets right back into Jean’s face. 

“Well, whatever he is to you, he didn’t deserve to be fucking dismissed like that.” Eren says, his eyes digging into Jean’s. “You can’t treat someone like a friend, you can’t flirt with someone for weeks and then tell them to beat it just cause Reiner shows up—“

“Literally, who the fuck are you?” Jean demands, throwing his hands up. “You’ve know Marco for maybe a week, and yet you’re gonna stand here defending him?”

“How can I not?” Eren cries, eyes widening and raising his shoulders in a blatant, ‘what the fuck do you expect from me’ look. “You two have been getting along great, for fuck’s sake Jean you’ve been happier in the last four weeks than the entire time we’ve known each other. How can I look at you and not give some credit to Marco?”

“Give credit to the fact that Reiner and Bertoldt are home!” Jean exclaims, stepping back and throwing his arms fully to his sides. “Give credit to my mom being finally happy with herself and Ewrin. Give credit to the fact I don’t have to sit around and watch Connie and Sasha flirt around all day. Give credit to the fact that City-Bound is doing great this summer.”

“City-Bound almost got shut down last week!” Eren yells, looking at Jean in dismay. He shakes his head. “Maybe you won’t admit it to yourself. But you’ve been different ever since meeting him. Good different. Christ, Jean, this is our first major fight in four weeks. That’s unheard of for us.”

There was no arguing that point. He and Eren always fought, and they had barely snipped at each other since Marco had pedaled into Jean’s life. Jean wanted to say it was because he didn’t want to put more pressure on Eren with Mikasa still in the hospital. But the truth was, he found little to complain about since he’d met Marco. Son of a bitch. 

“You need to apologize,” Eren said, dropping his hands, his posture relaxing. “Who knows what kind of state you’ll be in if you never talk to Marco again.”

What? Jean hadn’t even realized that was an option. Never talk to Marco again? No, no he was just mad, he was miffed, Marco could tell but he’d come back. Really, Freckles had come to the shop three times today just trying to talk to Jean. He’d come back.

But as Eren walked into the lobby, leaving Jean alone in the garage, he felt his chest tighten and his blood run cold. He strained to hear bike tires rolling up the parking lot. It was quiet.


	9. Mustang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok, this was a lovely chapter to write, hopefully you have a lovely time reading it! So much Jean and Marco interaction, i almost died

“I said the blue wire. No, the blue. The blue. Jesus fuck—THE BLUE WIRE!”

“Who the fuck is yelling?” Jean exclaims, rolling out from under the Ford Mustang on his creeper, a small pocket sized wrench in one hand. He looks around the garage in confusion, and finally spots Eren and Connie working on a Toyota Corolla in Door #3. Connie is sitting in the driver’s seat, and Eren is standing at the front of the vehicle with the hood up. In his hands he holds a small pair of pliers, and Connie is stretching over the steering wheel trying to watch what Eren’s doing. At first Jean is confused as to why they’re even working together, then remembers they’re been trying to get the Corolla to start since the morning, and it’s late afternoon now. The owner practically pushed the car into the garage, unable to get the thing to turn on. There was something wrong with the engine and the battery, and since it was such a big job, Eren and Connie had teamed up to work on it together. 

Obviously, that had been a mistake. 

“I SAID THE BLUE ONE!”

“I CUT THE BLUE ONE!”

“Stop, stop, stop,” Jean demands, getting off the creeper and heading over to his two coworkers. He passes Sasha who’s changing the oil of a 2005 station wagon and trying to hide her smile. She’s failing, and Jean smacks the back of her head as he walks by. She bursts out laughing. 

“What exactly is the problem?” Jean asks, coming up next to Eren and peering into the engine. 

“All we have to do left is cut the blue wire and then restart the battery with the cable ties and then—“

“Okay,” Jean says, holding up a hand to cut him off. “That’s all fine, except you shouldn’t be cutting any wires.”

“HA!” Eren yelps, pointing a finger at Connie. “What did I say! I said no cutting!”

“Then why the fuck did you cut this wire?” Jean asks Eren, picking up the cut blue wire near the battery with his pointer finger and thumb. He looks at Eren, who’s face has gone red. 

“Connie insisted.”

“When have you ever listened to Connie?”

“I’ve never worked on one of these before,” Eren says now, gesturing to the Corolla. “He has. I figured he knew better than me.”

Jean sighs. He couldn’t blame Eren for that. So he directs his attention to Connie.”

“Why the fuck are you cutting wires, Connie?”

Connie pales, whipping open the driver’s side door and climbing out. He holds his hands up to Jean.

“Okay, okay,” he starts, swinging around and looking under the hood. “I figured instead of wasting time trying to reroute the power manually, we could cut one or two wires and the power would automatically reroute to the battery.”

“I think we’ve all learned how risky it can be to make repairs using shortcuts,” Jean says, narrowing his eyes at Connie. Eren and Connie both look over Jean’s shoulders at Sasha. Connie gulps loudly, and Eren winces. 

“Yeah,” Connie says. “You’re right.” He sucks in a big breath. “But now what? Eren’s cut the wire already?”

“Only because your dumb ass—“

“Enough,” Jean says, knocking Eren’s arm with his fist. The brunet putters off, sticking out his jaw and pouting. 

“You’ll have to replace the wire,” Jean says now, pulling out the severed blue wire from the engine. “We don’t have any here, you’ll need to go to AutoBob and get another. Then readjust and figure out a way to reroute the power without cutting anything that can’t be glued back together.”

“But AutoBob is on the other side of the city,” Eren protests. “It’ll take us an hour to get there and back.”

“Yeah,” Connie agrees, his shoulders sagging. 

“That’s not my problem,” Jean retorts, throwing the blue wire in Connie’s face. “I’m not the one that fucked up the Corolla.” Connie swats the wire in the air, sending it flying. He glares at Jean. 

“Why can’t we ask Marco to get it for us? He runs errands for a living.”

Jean feels a tightness in his chest, constricting him so hard he actually stops breathing for a second. Eren’s eyes flash to his face, coated in worry. Marco hasn’t come to the garage in three days. It’s the longest Jean has gone without seeing him in a month. He hasn’t even rode by, and while Jean worried Marco wasn’t even working, Eren simply pointed out he probably was just adjusting his route so he wouldn’t have to ride by City-Bound. This made him feel even worse, thinking Marco had previously been going out of his way on occasion to see Jean. 

“Marco’s got his own job,” Eren says now, because Jean hasn’t been able to open his mouth and answer Connie. “And this is ours. If we leave now, we can be back by 5.”

“My shift ends at 5,” Connie says, raising his eyebrows. 

“Your shift ends when you fix that battery,” Jean says, turning away from them and heading back to his own vehicle. 

“But Sasha and I are going to the movies at 6!”

“Why are you telling me like I give a shit?” Jean answers, glancing over his shoulder. Eren has already walked away towards the exit, but Connie stands and pouts at Jean for another moment.   
Finally, he turns around and follows Eren out the garage. 

“Well,” Sasha says, closing the hood of her car and sighing. “That’s my last one for the day. You need anything else?”

“No,” Jean says, sitting back down on his creeper. “Just fill out the report before you leave.” Sasha nods, giving Jean a small smile before grabbing her bag and walking into the lobby. 

And then he’s alone. Jean heaves out a big sigh, his mind still on Marco and his freckles, the ones he hasn’t seen in three fucking days. He keeps repeating the words he said the last time he saw Marco, and keeps kicking himself every time he does. Jean shakes his head. He lays down on the creeper and rolls back under, getting back to work. 

When he rolls back out and checks his watch, he’s shocked to see it reads six o clock. It’s still light out, and Jean rechecks his watch. It reads the same, and Jean stands and looks around the garage. Sasha’s car is gone, but he heard the owner come back some time ago and reclaim it. Door #2 is still open though, as is Door #3, where the Corolla is sitting exactly as Eren and Connie left it. He hasn’t heard them come back yet, and groans. Turning, he heads into the lobby, knowing his mother is probably packing up the front desk about now. 

“Stop right there!” Jacklyn calls, seeing Jean enter the lobby. She points down to his oil covered shoes. “Not another step forward.”

“Have you seen Eren and Connie? There were supposed to be back almost an hour ago.”

“They were,” Jacklyn says, stuffing paperwork into a drawer under the desk. “I sent them home.”

“You what now?” Jean exclaims, staring at his mother with dinner plate eyes. 

“I sent them home,” she repeats, shutting down the computer at the desk. “Connie and Sasha had a date planned and Eren looked exhausted.”

Jean sputters, shocked by his mother’s behavior. She almost never sends employees home when they still have work to do. And Eren and Connie most certainly had work left to do. 

“The owner of the Corolla is coming back tomorrow morning,” Jean says. 

“Not the morning,” Jacklyn says, flicking her hand at Jean. “He said around noon. They’ll have plenty of time.”

“They haven’t even figured out what’s wrong with the engine yet!” Jean cries, throwing his hands out. 

“Jean, honey,” Jacklyn says, walking towards him and brushing some of his hair off his forehead. “It’s fine. It’s closing time. Are you coming up soon?” 

Jean sets his mouth into a hard line. They both know he won’t be able to sleep knowing that Corolla doesn’t even have a solution yet. It’s only happened once: a customer came to retrieve their car and it wasn’t completed yet. Jean has never let it happen again. He shakes his head at his mother. She sighs. 

“Don’t stay up too late,” she says, leaning up to kiss his cheek. She then side steps him and heads for the stairs leading to their apartment upstairs. Jean drags his hands down his face, his frustration weighing him down. Eren could have had the decency to stay at least. He also knew Jean wouldn’t have been able to sleep with the Corolla sitting in its slot, untouched. Jean turns around, grips the door handle and walks back into the garage. 

Only to see Marco standing next to the Mustang. 

“Oh,” Jean says, completely involuntarily. He freezes on the stairs, one hand still on the door handle, and stares at Marco. Freckles jumps away from the Mustang, his face losing some color as he spots Jean. He wipes his hands on his jeans, looks around the garage quickly, before looking back up at Jean. 

“Hey,” he says quietly, so quietly Jean almost doesn’t hear him. Marco clears his throat, open his mouth like he might say something else, before closing it again. 

Jean lets go of the handle and walks down the stairs slowly. He heads towards the Mustang and Marco, eyeing the car as he approaches. He stops within five feet of Freckles, but he keeps his eyes on the vehicle. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks. Marco physically tenses. 

“Look, I can leave—“

“No,” Jean cuts him off, looking back up at his face. “No, it’s just…” he trails off, shaking his head. “You haven’t come around in a while.”

“Yeah,” Marco says, stuffing his hands into his pockets. He clears his throat again. It’s eerily quiet in the garage. 

“Listen—“ they both start at the same time, then stop and stare at each other again. 

“I shouldn’t have said that shit,” Jean breaks out, looking down at the floor for a second before raising his eyes again. He swallows hard. “It’s not weird that you come here all the time, because I’m the one that asks you to come back every day. If I had any other way of contacting you I would have said so already but…”

“Yeah,” Marco says, dragging a hand through his hair. Jean can’t help but watch the way it exposes part of his forehead, and even more freckles are visible to Jean. His breath catches in his throat for a second. “Sorry I’ve been avoiding you.” Jean hates the fact that Marco’s admitting he’s purposefully not rode by the garage, and it wasn’t just coincidence that Jean hadn’t seen him. “Just kinda sucked hearing you say that stuff.”

“It was shitty of me to say it,” Jean agrees. Marco looks at him, and a half smile blooms on his face. Jean can’t help but return it. 

“So, we’re good?”

“Yeah,” Jean says, nodding. “We’re good.”

“So you’re gonna let me take this Mustang for a spin now, right?” 

Jean laughs as Marco steps back towards the Ford and peers into the window. His eyes widen with glee. 

“What year is this?” Marco asks. Jean steps around him and peers into the window. 

“2015,” he answers. When Marco turns to him with his mouth open, Jean can’t fight the smile breaking open his face. Just having Marco here again has put him in an incredible mood. “Yeah, I know, I’ve been really careful with it.”

“You’re careful with every car that comes in here.” Marco says, standing straight and smirking at Jean. “You treat an Audi the same way you treat a Mom van.”

“Mom vans are the backbone of this nation,” Jean says, making Marco laugh. The sound blossoms a feeling of warmth in Jean’s chest. 

“What’s this one’s story?” Marco asks, heading towards the Corolla. Jean groans, and Marco raises his eyebrows at him. 

“Eren and Connie should actually still be here working on this one, but my mom sent them home.” Jean says, leaning over the open hood and gazing down. “We don’t even know what’s wrong with it, and Connie had Eren fuck something up and now…”

“Now you’re gonna be up all night trying to fix it.” Marco finishes. Jean sighs. He looks at Marco, who’s still got that half smile on his face. 

“You wanna keep me company?” 

Marco’s face breaks open into a smile. “Lemme pull my bike in.”

Eight hours later, Jean and Marco are laying on one of the couches, an empty box of pizza lying in front of them. Marco is sitting with his back on the seat, his legs turned around and hanging off the back of the couch. His head is hanging upside down, hands over his stomach. Jean is sitting normally, shaking his head as Marco moans. 

“I can’t believe we finished that,” Marco comments, his eyes closed. Jean scoffs.

“You’re the one who complained about not eating anything all day.”

“I meant it as a joke after midnight!” Marco cries, throwing his hands to the side of him. His hair is flopped up from hanging upside down. “You know, it’s a new day, I haven’t eaten anything all day? And you said you missed dinner.”

“Don’t act like this was my idea,” Jean says, leaning back against the couch. “Fuck, my stomach.”

Marco grins, and Jean reaches up and throws his legs off the couch. Marco yelps, tumbling backwards onto the ground. He rolls once before laying on his back and staying there. He sniffs. 

“When’s the last time you washed this floor?”

“The last time you saw me wash the floor.” Marco makes a face. 

“That’s gross,” he says. “Have you no decency?”

Jean laughs, standing and grabbing the empty box off the floor. He walks towards the garbage can near Door #1, which still stands open. After working on the Corolla for a few hours and finally repairing the engine, Jean figured he could task Eren and Connie with either fixing or replacing the battery tomorrow morning before the client came back to retrieve the car. Marco had hung out next to him, passing tools and talking. Over the past three days, he’d delivered over fifty messages, packages, and whatever else. 

“You know some girl tried using us to deliver a used tampon to her ex-boyfriend?” Marco told Jean at one point. Jean, so shocked and disgusted by this fact, had dropped the wrench was holding. 

“Are you kidding me?” he asked Marco, who nodded. “Please tell me you called the police or something.”

Marco laughed. “No, but Hanji was laughing so hard Levi had to be the one to explain we don’t deliver packages containing human or animal fluids.” 

“That’s honestly the grossest thing you’ve ever told me,” Jean said, shaking his head and picking the wrench back up. “Even more than when you told me you don’t know how to drive.”

Marco groaned, rolling his eyes but smiling. “There’s no need for me to drive! At least not yet. I grew up in the city, I’ve always had my bike, and traffic is shit.”

Jean just shook his head. “You still need to learn how to drive. It’s a basic life skill.”

Marco was quiet for a beat. “Well, do you want to teach me?”

Jean freezes, his hand hovering over a tiny oil tube. He clears his throat, not taking his eyes off the engine. 

“My aunt’s gone a lot for work,” Marco said. “I’d ask Levi, but I don’t want my coworkers thinking he’s playing favorites.” Jean still didn’t answer him. “You know you can just say no, right?”

“Yes,” he said suddenly. He turned his head, peering up at Marco, a small smile playing on his lips. “I can teach you, Freckles. You mind learning stick shift?”

Marco grinned. He shook his head. “I don’t mind at all.”

“What do you mean your aunt is gone a lot for work?” Jean asked, focusing back on the engine. He tied off the first leaking oil tube and moved on to the next one. 

“She works for the government,” Marco said, taking the wrench out of Jean’s hand when he held it out for him. “So she’s always traveling.”

“Your aunt is a spy?”

“What—no!” Marco laughed, smacking Jean on the arm. 

“Don’t hit me, mother fucker, I’m basically performing surgery right now.”

“She is not a spy,” Marco said, but he eased off Jean. “Right now she’s in Seattle. She’s been there for a few weeks.”

“You’ve been living alone for a few weeks?”

“No, I’ve been living alone for a few months. She was in Austin before Seattle, and Atlanta before Austin, and New York City before—“

“Jesus, Freckles,” Jean said. “When is she actually home?” 

Marco shrugged. “Not often. Few times a year. This isn’t really her home, it’s just one of the apartments she owns. She’s my mom’s sister, so she bought a place in the city to stay in when she comes for holidays and birthdays.”

Jean didn’t know what to say to that so he focused on the engine. Ever since his father had died, Jean had always valued his mother’s presence, and even Ewrin’s presence to an extent. He knew how important family was, and friends for that matter. That’s why Jacklyn was constantly inviting the others to their apartment. She and Jean were similar in they both knew what it was like to feel alone, and wouldn’t wish that on anyone. The fact that Marco was living by himself, especially when he had the option of going home and living with his parents, was beyond Jean. But, like always, it wasn’t his place. He didn’t know what had gone down between Marco and his parents, and he wouldn’t ask. 

“Do you like living alone?” he asked instead. Marco shrugged again. 

“I have Olli,” he said. “And because of work I’m really not there that often. I don’t mind.” But he didn’t say he liked it. 

“How come your mom kept the shop open if she doesn’t like cars?” Marco asked him. 

“The shop was my dad’s dream. Even though he’s gone, there’s still so much of him here, in the garage. My mom wouldn’t give that up for the world.” Jean sighed, standing back from the engine for a moment. He glared down at it, before spotting another leaking tube and leaned back in. 

“Is she dating that guy Ewrin?”

“Hell if I know,” Jean answered. “If she was, I think I’d be the last to know. She’s worried I might disapprove.”

“Would you?” Marco asked. Jean shook his head. 

“She hasn’t dated anyone since my dad died. If she’s gonna spend the rest of her life with anyone, I’d want it to be Ewrin. He’s the best man I know.”

“That’s sweet of you,” Marco said, earning a glare from Jean. “I’m serious!”

“Whatever, Freckles. Hand me that level.”

Jean worked in silence for a few minutes. He looked up at one point and saw Marco surveying the garage with wide eyes. He looked back down at the engine without saying anything. 

“Are you almost done?” Marco asked suddenly, disrupting Jean’s focus. He swats Marco’s arm. 

“Not even close, dipshit,” he answered. Marco grinned, but slid down to the floor to sit instead of leaning against the car. Jean glanced down at him. “Do you wish you could wear a color other than that bright ass green?”

“Is this your way of telling me you don’t like my uniform?”

“No, this is my way of figuring out if you like your uniform.”

“I don’t love this shade of green,” Marco said, picking at the front of his shirt. “But I do think it brings out my eyes.” On complete reflex, Jean turned away from the engine and looked down at Marco. His breath caught when he locked eyes with him, and he forced himself to look away. 

“Who the hell picked green anyways?” Jean asked, and Marco giggled like god damn girl scout. 

“Levi likes the color green. It’s easy to spot and pick out stains.”

“That’s weird.”

“You’re weird.”

“I’m not weird, I’m hungry.”

Now, as Jean throws out the pizza box and checks his watch, he’s about to ask Marco when he has to get up in the morning when he realizes Marco isn’t where he left him. 

“Freckles?” he calls out. “Marco?”

“Well, this is stupid.” 

Jean pauses. He can hear Marco, but he still can’t see him. 

“Freckles, where the hell are you?” 

“I mean what’s the point of using this thing when you can just raise the car manually?” 

“Please, please do not tell me you are under my Mustang.”

“Not entirely sure why you’re calling it your Mustang,” Marco’s voice rings out, and Jean sprawls on the ground next to the Ford Mustang. There, laying on his creeper, is Marco fucking Bodt.   
“If it was your Mustang I’m sure we would have gone for a joy ride already.”

“Get the fuck out of there!” Jean cries, waving his arm under the vehicle. 

“This is so uncomfortable,” Marco says, ignoring Jean. “Like, my back is already throbbing. You’re telling me you lay on this thing for hours at a time?” I haven’t even been here for a minute and I’m already sick of it.”

“Guess that just means I’m more fit than you.” Jean says, laying on his stomach and folding his arms in front of him. He rests his chin on his forearms. 

“Which one of us spends all day riding a bike around the city.”

“The same one that doesn’t even know how to drive.”

“You know, there are plenty of people in the city that don’t know how to drive. Driving is for tourists.”

“I have lived here for nineteen years,” Jean says. “I learned how to drive. It’s a life skill.”

Marco pauses, tilting his head back to look at Jean. “When’s your birthday?” 

“April 7th,” Jean answers, raising an eyebrow at Marco. “When’s yours?”

“Next Tuesday.”

“Next—next Tuesday?” Jean sputters out. 

“Yeah,” Marco says, looking up into the underdeck of the car again. 

“Is,” Jean starts. “Is your aunt coming home?”

“I don’t think so,” Marco shakes his head. “She’s got a lot of work to do in Seattle.”

“Are your…” Jean coughs. “Are you going to celebrate with your parents?”

Marco throws Jean a look, and Jean has to admit to himself that was a stupid question to ask. 

“This isn’t the first birthday I’ve spent without them,” Marco says. “I highly doubt it will be the last.” 

Jean doesn’t say anything for a moment. There’s too many thoughts running through his mind. 

“Oh, god, I can’t take it anymore,” Marco cuts through the silence, rolling back out from under the Mustang and sitting up on the creeper. He arches his back and Jean hears some awful   
cracking noises. 

“It’s not for everyone,” Jean says, standing and coming around the car to stand in front of Marco. He offers him a hand and Marco gladly accepts it, allowing Jean to yank him to his feet. 

“I should leave,” Marco says, and Jean can barely hide the disappointment on his face. 

Marco heads towards his bike, which is leaning against the wall closest to Door #1. Jean follows slowly. Despite the last eight hours he has spent with Marco, he still doesn’t want him to leave just yet. But Marco is obviously tired, and so is Jean, so there’s no way he can argue.   
As Marco mounts his bike however and pedals to the exit, he turns around and looks at Jean again. Jean, not sure what Marco wants, walks up next to him. He turns and faces Marco, so his back is to the parking lot, whereas Marco’s is to the garage. Jean can feel the handlebars pressing gently into his back.

“What color would you switch the green with?” Marco asks, a half smile on his lips. Jean smirks. 

“I mean, if you still have to pick such a bright shade, you might as well go with orange,” Jean says. Unknowingly, he inches closer to Marco, his back lifting off the handlebars. He shrugs. “Go big or go home.”

Suddenly, Marco kicks forward slightly before stopping again. His face is now directly in front of Jean’s, their noses practically touching. Jean’s breath hitches, and Marco’s face turns bright pink but he doesn’t move. Well, he doesn’t move anything but his eyes. Those drop down to Jean’s lips for a fraction of a second, before shooting back up to his eyes.   
Jean swallows hard, and feels the same tightness he felt in his chest earlier that day. His own eyes flicker to Marco’s mouth, causing Marco to catch his breath and be still. Jean juts his jaw out a little, bringing their mouths even closer. He can barely see Marco’s face, but in his fuzzy vision he sees Marco’s eyes flutter shut. His last clear thought is “Fuck it”. 

Jean drops his head to close the last few centimeters. His lips brush against Marco’s, so soft he wonders if he missed Marco’s mouth completely. But no, he stuck the landing, the tiny noise Marco makes in the back of his throat confirms this. Jean’s eyes shut on instinct, and the hand he brings to Marco’s waist is also instinct. Marco’s lips move just slightly, and Jean responds almost too eagerly, his jaw jutting forward again to catch Marco’s mouth. One of Marco’s hands is on his right handlebar, but the other reaches up to rest on the side of Jean’s neck. When Jean turns his head to access more of Marco’s perfect, perfect mouth, he brings his other arm up and wraps it completely around him, tugging the freckled boy in closer, if that was even possible. Marco sighs into Jean’s mouth, his lips parting. He then has the fucking nerve to grab Jean’s lower lip with both his, sucking for only a moment before letting go. Jean’s entire body shudders, his grip on Marco tightening. Marco’s shirt is dry fit material, and Jean can feel how warm his skin is underneath. It’s not warmer than Marco’s mouth however, which is also open and perfect and needy and when Jean parts his own lips, Marco doesn’t hesitate to grab onto that lower lip again and tug. Jean’s fingers dig themselves into Marco’s waist. 

Jean’s about to drop his head into Marco’s neck when the freckled boy pulls away, to both of their surprise. He leans his forehead on Jean’s. Jean, not willing to let go of Marco just yet, focuses on controlling his breathing, in case Marco lets him dive back in. But he doesn’t, he simply leans back and looks at Jean with big eyes and a swollen, pink mouth. It takes everything in Jean at that moment not to tug him back in.

“I,” Marco starts, his thumb brushing the side of Jean’s neck. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Jean, unable to do anything else at the moment, nods. “Yeah,” he says quietly, finally dropping his arms from Marco. “Tomorrow.”

Marco drops his hand too, and Jean’s neck feels cold from where it was. He takes a step back, giving Marco, who throws him one last smile, room to pedal out of the garage. Jean watches him ride down the driveway, and then loses sight of him once he hits the road. He wonders if Marco turns around at some point, but it’s too dark to see. He also wonders if Marco, like himself, will have trouble sleeping tonight.


	10. Mikasa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up Jean and Marco don't see each other in this chapter. Didn't want yall reading through it waiting for him to show up. BUT this chapter is important so plzz don't skip it! Also i hope yall are cool with how I wrote Mikasa. shes going through a hard time, but she's still a bad ass. ENJOY THANK YOU FOR ALL THE LOVELY COMMENTS AND KUDOS

Jean fumbles with the tool box drawer. He frowns, swearing under his breath and yanking on the handle again. 

“What the fuck,” he whispers, rattling the drawer and slamming his palm against it when it still refuses to open. He sighs, closing his eyes and chanting every curse word under the sun in his mind. 

“Isn’t this thing only a week or two old?” Eren asks, coming up behind Jean, who groans. 

“Yeah,” he answers. He slams his hand against it again. “I swear if I have to bust open this drawer I’m calling the company and getting a refund.”

“Not a bad idea,” Eren says, walking away for a moment and returning with a crowbar. He doesn’t wait for Jean to give him permission. Raising the crowbar, Eren inserts the lip of the tool into the top of the drawer and thrusts down. The drawer breaks, popping open as pieces of metal fly off. Jean steps up behind Eren, inspecting the wrecked drawer. The metal is bended and the paint’s been stripped off by the crowbar. He groans. 

“Son of a bitch.”

“How much money did your mom spend on this?” Eren asks, dropping the crowbar on the ground and rubbing the back of his head. 

Jean shakes his head, too annoyed by the situation to give Eren an answer. He can’t stop thinking about the hours he spent constructing the tool box, filling it with supplies, only for him and Eren to bust the thing in order to open a single drawer. Marco would have a hay day. 

“My mom is gonna kill me,” Jean mumbles, running his hands over his face. Eren hesitates, sucking in a breath and opening his mouth like he might say something before closing it again. 

Jean gives him a side glance, narrowing his eyes at him. “What is it, Yeager.”

“Could you…” Eren sighs, looking up at the ceiling. “Could you give me a ride?”

“What?” Jean asks, turning around and looking at the clock on the opposite wall. “Now?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I lent Armin my car yesterday and he hasn’t returned it yet.”

“Don’t you live like twenty minutes from here?” Jean asks, placing a hand on the tool box and inspecting it further. “You’ve walked Armin back before.”

“I’m not looking for a ride home.”

Jean faces Eren, who now looks at him with a grim expression, his mouth pressed into a hard line. 

“What are you looking for?”

“A ride to the hospital.”

Jean stiffens, expecting every answer other than that. Which is weird, because besides his apartment and City-Bound, the hospital is the only other place in the city Eren frequently visits. 

“I would only need you to drop me off,” Eren says in a rush. “There’s a shuttle bus that takes people anywhere in the city, but there isn’t one that actually brings people to the hospital.”

“That’s stupid,” Jean says, because he’s not sure what to say. He does, in fact, have time to take Eren. Mike’s shift is starting in half an hour, and he’s the only one with appointments. The rest of Jean’s day was going to be spent ordering a new tool box, cleaning the garage and waiting for Marco to turn up.

Marco. Shit. 

Jean looks towards Door #1, the only door open because there aren’t any other cars in the shop. It’s just past lunch. Marco hasn’t come by yet, but lately he’s been coming in the evening, when the shop is getting ready to close. Marco says it’s easier for him to stop by after he’s completed all his deliveries, but Jean likes to believe it’s because Jean’s usually alone in the garage by the time Marco comes around. 

Either way, he hasn’t stopped by yet, and Jean would hate to miss him. Yet, Eren is still standing in front of Jean, looking small and Jean hates that, hates the look on Eren’s face whenever he mentions Mikasa. So Jean zips into the lobby, grabs his car keys, tells his mother he’ll be back in a bit, then heads for the parking lot. Eren is already standing by Jean’s Camry, leaning against the passenger side door looking anxious. Just before he unlocks the car, Jean hears someone call his name. He turns, hoping to see Marco riding up from the street. Instead, he sees Mike heading for the garage. 

“Where are you guys going?” he calls out. Eren waves while Jean jogs over. 

“I’ve gotta give Eren a ride somewhere, I’ll be back later,” Jean says, shaking Mike’s hand. He hasn’t seen his coworker in while. Mike still has a scar on his arm from when the car landed on him a while back. “Hey, if you see a Maria Messenger come by, tell him I’ll be back later.”

“Who?”

“His name’s Marco,” Jean says, walking backwards back towards Eren and his car. “He’ll be wearing one of those lime green shirts and riding a bike.”

“How do I know he’s looking for you?” Mike asks, a small smile on his face, like he can see through Jean or something. Which is strange, because Mike is the only member of the City-Bound crew not to have met Marco. 

“The freckles,” Jean answers over his shoulder, unlocking the car and watching Eren climb in. “If he’s got freckles, he’s looking for me.”

There are actually two hospitals in Trost. Mikasa has been at Utopia for the last two years, getting treatment and undergoing surgery. 

“It started off as skin cancer,” Jean overheard Eren tell his mother once a year ago. “Nothing serious, but then it spread to her liver and her kidneys and her brain. Lot of ground to cover.”

Thinking this, Jean has to wonder how Mikasa has even survived this long. She was diagnosed years ago, she’s had at least a dozen surgeries, and keeps going through new treatments like they’re packs of gum. Eren is sitting tense next to Jean, his eyes out the window, watching the buildings go by. Jean focuses on the road in front of him, quiet. When they pull up to the hospital however, Eren clears his throat.

“Um,” he coughs into his elbow. “Do you um…wanna come with me?”

“What?” Jean asks, braking too hard, lurching the car forwards and then backwards. Eren grunts as his head hits the back of the car seat. 

“Mikasa,” Eren says, rubbing the back of his head as he glances at Jean. “She wants to meet you.”

“Did you even need a ride?” Jean asks, tucking his chin in and raising his eyebrows at Eren. 

“Yes,” Eren grumbles. “Listen, I could go the rest of my life without introducing you to my sister, but she’s persistent. I talk about you enough that she wants to assign a face to the stories.”

“You talk about me?” Jean asks, genuinely surprised. Although, he really shouldn’t be. Jean and his mother, and the rest of the City-Bound crew, talk about Eren all the time when he’s not with them. He barely gives any information about his home life, mainly because his home life consists of the girl sitting in a room on the third floor of the hospital, so Jean and the others are forced to make up their own answers. Erwin offers little pieces of information, but he respects Eren’s privacy so they’re really left with nothing. Considering the City-Bound crew and Armin make up the majority of Eren’s life, it shouldn’t surprise Jean he speaks of them when he’s with his sister. 

“What else am I supposed to talk about?” Eren asks Jean now, confirming Jean’s thoughts. The mechanic glances out his window. The hospital stands in front of them, a tall gray building with blue outlining and a row of ambulances in the front section of the parking lot. Jean places a hand on the keys in the ignition. 

“You know you can say no, right?” Eren says, nudging Jean’s arm. “You can drop me off and go back to the shop. I know you haven’t seen Marco today.”

“That’s not important,” Jean says, meaning it, because right now, Marco’s not as important as Eren. Eren raises his eyebrows but doesn’t say anything. Jean closes his eyes. 

Eren’s been his friend for over a year. He’s been struggling with taking care of sister for more than twice as long as that. He had to deal with Jean constantly arguing and yelling at him when he first started working at the shop, he’s broke as hell due to medical bills, and just…Jesus he’s done it all for his sister. Every time someone mentions her, Eren winces like he’s just been poked in the ribs, turning away and rubbing his eyes. Jacklyn once mentioned how horrible it must be to watch the last remaining member of his family die, despite everything Eren is doing for her. 

“Still,” Jacklyn had said, standing over the stove as she cooked dinner. “If Mikasa dies, at least Eren will still have us.”

“Us?” Jean asked.

“Of course,” Jacklyn said, turning and smiling at Jean. “Eren’s part of the family now.”

Family. Marco would have to hold for family. 

Jean yanks up the parking brake, then pulls the keys from the ignition, effectively turning the car off. He opens the driver’s side door and steps out. Eren, after a moment of hesitation, climbs out too. Neither of them say anything as they head into the front entrance. Jean fumbles with his keys in his pocket as he walks up at Eren’s shoulder. He hasn’t been in a hospital since the night his mother and him went to identify his father’s body. Thinking this, Jean shudders, and feels Eren glance at him. They both remain silent however. 

“Hi dear,” the woman at the front desk says when Eren walks up. He grins tightly at her, and she turns to Jean. “A friend?”

“He doesn’t need a name tag,” Eren cuts her off as she picks up a sharpie. Her hand hovers over a ‘hi my name is’ sticker. “Mikasa is expecting him.”

The woman purses her lips, but then sets the sharpie down. She tilts her head towards the elevators. 

“Still busted,” she says. “Gonna have to take the stairs.”

“That’s fine,” Eren says, giving her one last nod and grin before gesturing for Jean to follow him. They head for a staircase, and ascend to the third floor. Jean hates the pit of lead forming in his stomach. He feels like he’s going on a first date. He wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. As he and Eren exit the staircase and walk into the cancer ward, the pit grows. 

“Eren!” a happy voice calls, and Jean looks up to see a small woman bound over to him. She has short caramel colored hair and a warm smile, and Jean instinctively softens around the edges as she wraps Eren in a hug. She’s wearing dark green nurse scrubs, a stethoscope wrapped around her neck, and a clipboard in one hand. 

“Hi, Petra,” Eren says. “Is she awake?”

“She’s about to be,” the nurse, Petra says, checking her clipboard. “I’ve got to wake her right now and check her vitals.”

“Has she eaten?”

“Nothing solid,” Petra says, walking away from Eren, who immediately follows her, forcing Jean to follow him. “But you can try and get her to eat something while you’re here.”

Jean follows the two into a room near the end of the hall. The walls are a light blue, bright from the sunlight streaming in from the windows. Jean first wonders why the shades are drawn back if Mikasa should be sleepy, then realizes it’s because the girl is not sleeping at all.

Mikasa is sitting up in her bed, facing the windows which are directly next to the mattress. There’s a side table on the other side of the bed with a vase full of flowers and a tiny digital clock. There’s a bathroom next to the door, and two chairs. One is next to the windows near the foot of the bed, the other next to the side table. Jean notices the laptop sitting on the bed and the stack of books on the window ledge. Then he notices Mikasa. 

Jean thought he knew what she looked like. His mother said she saw a picture, and although Eren and Mikasa didn’t look all that similar, she could tell they were siblings. Now, Jean isn’t so sure. Mikasa doesn’t have any hair, and her skin is not a soft pale like Eren’s, it’s a gray, shady color from years of chemicals getting pushed through it. Her eyes are a dull blackish blue, thinner than Eren’s and framed by purple circles. But when she turns and sees Eren standing in the doorway, her face lights up. 

“I didn’t think you were coming today,” she says as Eren approaches her bedside. Petra walks in next, setting down her clipboard and heading back into the hallway to retrieve a small cart with equipment. Jean presses himself against the wall to make room for her. Eren loops around the bed and sits on the window sill ledge. He looks at Jean as Petra attaches a blood pressure gauge to Mikasa. 

“I brought a friend,” Eren says, and Mikasa looks over Petra’s shoulder at Jean. He swallows, raises his hand in a meek wave. Eren stifles a laugh, clearly amused by how uncomfortable Jean looks. Jean glares at him, and Mikasa coughs. 

Once Petra has finished checking Mikasa’s vitals and leaves, kissing the top of Mikasa’s head as she goes, Eren clears his throat. 

“This,” he says finally, extending his hand towards Jean. “Is Jean. He’s Jacklyn’s son.”

“But he’s not your boss?” Mikasa asks, raising an eyebrow at Eren. Jean grins. 

“That’s up for debate.”

“No,” Eren says, glaring at Jean. “It’s not.”

“Eren mentioned,” Jean starts, stepping closer to the bed. “That you wanted to meet me?”

“Eren,” Mikasa says, and Eren straightens. She turns to him. “Will you get me some food from the cafeteria?” 

“You hate the cafeteria food,” Eren says, narrowing his eyes at her. She blinks at him. 

“Then will you get me a pretzel from across the street?”

Jean thinks about the booth he saw as he and Eren pulled into the parking lot. The guy was selling hot dogs and burgers and fries and sodas and, apparently, pretzels. Eren sighs. He stands without another word and nudges Jean with his shoulder as he walks out. 

“I have a favor to ask you.”

Jean faces Mikasa, who is playing with the flowers in the vase next to her bed. 

“Do you need more flowers?” he asks her. She smiles, and Jean is struck by how beautiful she is, despite the hair loss and the purple rings around her eyes. He also can’t help but notice the   
muscle lining her arms, and how un-skinny she looks for someone that has been through multiple rounds of chemotherapy. She should be nothing but skin and bones, however she sits before Jean looking like she still has the ability to floor him should she need to. He shakes his head, flustered. 

“Eren has been accepting the tip money from his coworkers,” Mikasa says, taking her hand off the flowers, the smile fading off her face. “I need you to make him stop.”

“He’s not taking anything,” Jean protests, wondering how Mikasa knows this in the first place. He wasn’t even sure if Eren was aware he and the others had been donating their tip money to his jar. “We’re giving it to him. We know you’re…um…struggling with financials.”

“Struggling is an understatement,” Mikasa says, folding her hands in her lap. She stares at Jean with cold eyes, and he squirms under her gaze. “Eren’s going to be swimming in debt for the rest of his life.”

“So,” Jean says, confused by her request. “Why do you want us to stop giving you money?”

“You just said why,” Mikasa says, shifting in her bed, a look of discomfort crossing her face before disappearing again. “I don’t want anyone giving us anything.”

“It’s only tip money,” Jean says, shaking his head. “We’re not donating organs.”

“You shouldn’t be donating anything,” Mikasa says. “I’m not a charity case. I have cancer, every person on this fucking floor has cancer. Stop giving Eren money.”

“Don’t you have another surgery coming up?” Jean asks, completely making this up on the spot, but he has no idea how to politely deny this girl her request. How could he possibly explain to   
Eren and the others that Mikasa straight up doesn’t want the money? “You’re gonna need some help paying for that.”

“No,” Mikasa says. “I don’t have another surgery.” Fuck. “I cancelled the surgeries.” 

“You what?” Jean asks, flustered. “Why?”

“Why?” Mikasa repeats. “Because I’m tired, that’s why. Because I’ve spent more time in this bed than in my own back home, because I’ve barely got the energy to sit up on my own, because I hate every second of this.”

“Of what?”

“This.” Mikasa says, waving her hands around at the room. “I hate these blue walls, I hate these flowers, I hate the way the nurses and doctors look at me with so much pity it radiates off them like perfume. I hate the way Eren walks in here every day with this look on his face, like he’s hoping I’ll be bright eyed and my hair will be back and this will have all just been a dream.” Mikasa rubs the back of her head like Eren always does. She sighs. “I’ve come to accept that my disease will kill me. I just don’t want to see it killing Eren too.”

“You’re his sister,” Jean says, his voice barely a whisper. “Of course it’ll hurt him if you die.”

“When I die,” Mikasa says, giving Jean a pointed look, effectively telling him never to say ‘if’ again. “You need to be there for him. You, and Jacklyn and Erwin and Connie and Sasha and Armin. Oh, Armin.” She says as if she just remembered something. “Get Eren to ask him out. He’s been toying with the idea for some time now. Push him.”

“I…” Jean starts, thrown by all the information given to him. He barks out a small laugh. “Ok. Anything else?”

“Yeah, wipe that grin off your face,” Mikasa says, and Jean looks at her. She’s smiling however, and he can’t help but smile back. “Eren’s gonna come back and think we’re friends or something.”

“The horror,” Jean says, finally sitting in the chair next to the bed. He looks at Mikasa. “I don’t get why you’re so confident Eren will even listen to me. Half the time, I don’t even think he likes me.”

“Jean,” she says, tilting her head at him. “You do realize you are the first person Eren has ever brought to see me?”

“He needed a ride,” Jean tries to justify this, but Mikasa only shakes head. She doesn’t say anything else. She doesn’t have to. He hears footsteps behind him. Turning, he and Mikasa see Eren enter the room holding three pretzels. 

 

Later, when Jean is driving Eren home, he sucks in a breath as he opens his mouth.

“When are you going to ask Armin out?” 

Eren chokes, actually chokes on the piece of gum in his mouth. Jean brakes, reaches over, and slaps Eren on the back. 

“Fucking hell, Yeager!” Jean exclaims as the piece of gum comes flying out of Eren’s mouth. Eren catches it, then pulls down the window and throws it out onto the street. 

“How the fuck was I supposed to react to that?” Eren cries, couching harshly. “What are you even talking about?”

“Oh please,” Jean says, thinking he should tread lightly with this subject now. “We all know you like him.”

“Who’s we?” 

“We is everyone, dipshit,” Jean says, driving forward again. “Were you trying to be subtle?”

“I wasn’t trying to do anything,” Eren says, sinking lower in his seat. “We’re friends.”

“No,” Jean says, shaking his head. “We’re friends. You and Armin…there’s more to that.”

Eren is silent. He looks out the window. It’s just getting dark out, people are turning their outside lights on. 

“I can’t ask him out,” Eren says finally, just as Jean is pulling into the apartment parking lot. “He’s only sixteen.”

“I’m sorry,” Jean says, furrowing his eyebrows. “What does his age have to do with anything?”

“He’s a junior in high school,” Eren says, covering his eyes with one hand. “He’s fucking brilliant, he’ll get into a good college and move three states over and—“

“For fuck’s sake, Eren, what about next week?”

“What about next week?” Eren asks, raising his eyes to Jean. 

“I mean, you’re thinking about shit that might—might—happen years from now. But what about next week, getting food, seeing a movie, spending time with each other outside of the garage?”

“We see each other outside of the garage,” Eren protests. “We live in the same complex for shit’s sake. Do you even know where Marco lives?”

Jean is taken aback. “What has Marco got to do with any of this?”

“Are you kidding me, Jean.”

“Ask Armin out.”

“Admit you have feelings for Marco.”

“I’m not gay.”

“Then stop watching Marco’s ass whenever he rides out of the garage,” Eren says, scoffing, and Jean hates how this conversation has become about him. “You didn’t see him for three days, and you moped around like someone shot your dog.”

“I don’t have a dog.”

“Oh my god,” Eren says, dragging a hand through his hair. “You’re literally a child.”

“Look,” Jean says, hoping to get the topic back on Eren. “If you’re gonna sit here and admit you like Armin and you want to be with him, just man up and do it.”

“I could say the same thing to you. Are you a little cranky because you didn’t get to see your freckled messenger today?”

“Focus, Eren,” Jean says, pointing a finger at him. “One problem at a time.”

“So it is a problem,” Eren grins. “Not seeing Marco today?”

“I’ll see him tomorrow.”

“You’re pretty confident with that answer.”

“I’m also pretty confident asking Armin out would be good for both of you.”

“I don’t have time to take Armin out,” Eren says, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Between work and Mikasa—“

“You are not actually using your sister as an excuse to not date Armin, are you?” Eren’s mouth forms a thin line. He huffs out a breath. 

“Armin and I have a good thing going,” Eren says. “I don’t want to fuck that up.”

“Taking that kid to the movies won’t fuck anything up,” Jean says, placing his hands on the steering wheel. “It’ll just confirm everything you’re both thinking.”

“Yeah?” Eren says, glancing at Jean. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Marco—“

“Stop bringing up Marco.”

“How can I not?” Eren asks, but he’s getting out of the car. The window is still down, and he grins at Jean through it as he closes the door. “Whether or not you think you’re gay, there is no denying you look at Marco differently than everyone else.”

“How do I look at him?” Jean asks, afraid of the answer. 

“I don’t know,” Eren laughs, shaking his head. “Like he’s this ray of sunshine and freckles. Like you have to prepare yourself before look at him, and then when you do, like you never want to look away.”

“That doesn’t sound like ‘I don’t know’.”

“I know how you look at him,” Eren says, walking away from Jean’s car. “I just don’t know what it means.”

“Yeah,” Jean mumbles, laying his head against the head rest. “Neither do I.”


	11. Gravel in it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alright guys, this chapters kinda long but worth every word. lots of cute ass shit. Also in case, ya didn't notice, i made my cap, Pedal Faster will have 22 chapters. PLZ ENJOY THANK YOU FOR THE KUDOS AND THE COMMENTS YAL BE SO KIND :))))

“And he didn’t seem angry or annoyed or upset or anything?”

“For the last time,” Mike says tiredly, signing his report and clicking it back into the binder. “I told him you’d be back later. He left, came back about an hour later. I told him you still weren’t back, he smiled and said ‘okay thanks’ and biked away. Jesus, Kirstein, why are you sweating so much? Who is this guy?”

Eren, who is standing next to Jean filling out his own report, opens his mouth. Before any sound can come out, Jean swivels and punches Eren hard on the arm.

“Fuck!” Eren grunts, dropping the report and grabbing his arm. 

“Not a word,” Jean hisses at him as Mike walks away towards the front desk. Erwin is up front with Jacklyn, looking over their building’s mortgage bills. Jean hears his mother laugh lightly at something Erwin says.

“You know, you’re not being subtle,” Eren says, mocking Jean’s words from last night. “Are you trying to be subtle?”

“Fuck you,” Jean whispers harshly back. Eren rolls his eyes, picking the report back up and finishes signing it. He clips it back into the same binder Mike did. 

“I don’t know why you’re so worried,” Eren says. “You already know Marco comes back if he misses you the first time.”

“Yeah, and then I missed him again,” Jean answers. Eren shakes his head. 

“Still, you know he’ll back today. He always comes.” Jean throws Eren a look, like he should remember not too long ago when Marco avoided the shop for three days. Eren sees the look, recognizes it, and scoffs. “Yeah, well, that was under different circumstances. Did you basically tell him to fuck off yesterday?” Jean smacks his arm. “Hit me again and I’ll put your head through the dry wall.”

“Bring it.”

“Boys.” Jacklyn says sternly, and Eren and Jean immediately jump back from each other and straighten. Jean’s mother narrows her eyes at them. 

“Mike has gone home for the day,” she says. “Shouldn’t you two be in the garage?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jean says. He and Eren turn and scramble over each other in a race to get to the door first. They pour into the garage, almost tripping each other on the steps. 

Jean heads back to the pickup in his slot. Eren walks towards the tire stacks. He’s on pump up duty. Because the owner of the pickup isn’t coming until tomorrow and there are no other customers scheduled for the day, Jean allows Eren to plug in his phone and play music from the speakers. They work peacefully for the next two hours before Eren taps Jean on the shoulder and tells him he’s heading home. Jean looks out Door #1 and sees the sun is creeping down. He swallows, realizing Marco hasn’t come by yet, and the shop’s closing in thirty minutes. 

“Did you ask Armin out yet?” Jean asks as Eren unplugs his phone from the speaker. He shakes his head. 

“It’s only been a day, Jean, and I’ve been here for most of that day,” Eren says. He raises his head to see Jean staring at him. “I’ll ask him out this week, alright?”

“Tomorrow.”

“My shift ended two minutes ago,” Eren says, sliding a pair of sunglasses over his eyes. “You can’t tell me what to do anymore. I’ll ask him out within the week.” He bumps Jeans fist before heading out of the garage. 

Jean closes the hood of the pickup truck and sighs. There’s nothing left for him to do down here. He heads into the lobby to see his mother packing up for the night. 

“Need a blank report sheet?” Jacklyn asks him. He shakes his head. 

“Just came to see you,” Jean says, earning a warm smile from his mother. He has a fleeting thought that she looks younger for some reason. Whether it’s the tan she’s getting from the summer sun or what, he asks her. “Are you dating Erwin?”

“Jean!” Jacklyn gasps, her cheeks flushing. “I’m too old to date.”

“That’s not an answer.” 

“I…” she looks conflicted. “I haven’t given him an answer either. It’s very confusing.”

“If you’re going to be with anyone else, it should be Erwin,” Jean says. Briefly, he wonders when he became the city’s damn Matchmaker. “He’s one of the good ones.”

“I know that,” Jacklyn says, a small smile on her face. “I’m just not sure if I’m ready. I never imagined myself in this situation.” 

Jean can’t argue with her there. He never imagined himself in this situation either, offering advice to his widowed mother. But Erwin makes her happy, that much is obvious, and that much is important. It’s the most important. She kisses his cheek after she clicks off the desk lamp. 

“Hey, did you order a new toolbox?” she asks him. He shakes his head. 

“I figured I’d just call them and replace it.” 

“Sure, but you have to decide which one to replace it with,” Jacklyn says, heading for the stairs. “They’ll have to give you this one for free.”

“Oh,” Jean says, not knowing he’d get to choose a new tool box. He wasn’t even sure he wanted a different one than the model they had right now. 

“The catalogs are still in your room,” Jacklyn says, holding the door open for Jean. “Go grab them and pick one out.”

“It’s like Christmas in June,” Jean tells her, bounding up the stairs to the apartment. 

He walks down the hall to his bedroom and starts rifling through the papers on his desk for the catalogs. Once he finds them, he straightens, then sees a movement out of the corner of his eye. Turning to the window, he watches a dog chase a cat from one block to the other, and frowns, wondering if their pets or strays. He starts to pull away from the window when another motion, right below him, makes him stop. A bolt of lime green juts out of the garage. Jean’s chest tightens. Marco looks back into the garage once more and Jean realizes there is no one in the shop to tell Marco Jean is upstairs. Marco mounts his bike and begins pedaling across the parking lot. It’s when he reaches the street and starts down the street that Jean finds his voice. Whipping open the window as fast as he can, he leans out. 

“MARCO!” he shouts, cupping his mouth with one hand. The freckled boy twists, trying to see over his shoulder, and Jean watches his front wheel completely spin out. The bike veers out from under Marco, and Jean watches him get thrown to the gravel, skidding across it as he crashes. Jean can hear his yelp of pain from the window.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck—“ Jean chants, jumping away from his window and sprinting back into the hallway.

“What’s wrong?” Jacklyn calls from the kitchen as Jean whips past her. 

“Left the door open!” Jean shouts as he clambers down the stairs. 

Bursting into the garage, Jean rushes to the opened door and looks outside. Less than a block away is the green shirt, struggling to sit up on the opposite side of the street. Jean takes off towards Marco. 

“Fuck, are you okay?” He asks in a fury as he runs up to Marco. The biker groans lowly, rolling over onto his back.

“Yeah, totally, maybe just a scratch,” Marco grumbles, and Jean looks down at him. Marco follows his gaze. “Oh, a very big scratch.” There’s a big scrap cut on Marco’s upper arm, and Jean winces as he notices it. It’s bleeding terribly, pooling down Marco’s forearm.

“Fuck. We’ve got a first aid kit in the garage. Here,” Jean offers Marco his hand, which Marco waves off. 

“I’m fine, get my bike.”

“You did not just tell me to get your bike when you’re lying here bleeding out.”

“You know, you’re very overdramatic. Did I ever tell you that?”

“No,” Jean speaks through gritted teeth, reaching down and latching his hand on Marco’s wrist. 

“Well, you’re very overdramatic.”

“Well, you’re bleeding, so I think I get a pass.” Jean grunts, yanking on Marco’s wrist and hauling him to his feet. The freckled boy grimaces as he straightens. 

“Shit,” he whispers, looking down at the cut on his arm. “That hurts.”

“Yeah, let’s go,” Jean says, his hand still on Marco’s other wrist. Marco shakes him off. 

“Seriously, please get my bike.” Jean throws him a look. Marco throws one right back. “I’m not trying to run away; I just don’t want it getting stolen. I can walk on my own, Jean.”

Jean turns and lifts the bike off the ground, setting it down on its wheels.

“Walk.” He orders Marco, who grins and starts heading for the garage. Jean pushes the bike next to him. 

“Why was the garage open if no one was in here?” Marco asks as they head up the parking lot. Jean shakes his head. 

“I was just grabbing something in my room, I was coming right back.” 

“Are you closed?”

“Now we are,” Jean answers, setting the bike against the side wall and smacking Door #1’s control button. The door starts to shut, and Marco looks up at it. 

“How am I supposed to leave if you’re closing the door?”

“You’re not,” Jean says without even thinking. Marco’s eyes go wide and Jean has to turn away before the freckled boy can see how red his face is. “At least, not until I fix your arm.”

“Right,” Marco says, sounding a little breathless. Jean’s heart is also beating a little too fast, and he focuses on locating the first aid kit. 

Every now and then someone cuts their arm on a rusty screw or hammers their own thumb, so Jacklyn made it mandatory to keep a stocked first aid kit in the shop. Jean finds it on a shelf with the towels, and grabs one of those as well. He wets the towel in the sink before heading back to Marco, who’s sitting on one of the couches. Jean grabs a rolling stool and walks up to him, sitting down in front of the messenger. He presses the wet towel against Marco’s arm, who hisses in pain, but doesn’t pull out of Jean’s reach. 

“Fuck, Freckles,” Jean says as he removes the towel and inspects the wound. “There’s pieces of gravel in there.”

“Guess you’re going fishing,” Marco says. Jean glares at him. 

“You know, you asking me to fix bikes was bad enough. I didn’t think you’d be coming to me for medical help as well.”

“You’re the surgeon, right?” Marco asks. He’s cracking jokes, but his face has gone pale looking at the cut. It bled a lot, the majority of Marco’s arm is painted red. Marco swallows hard. 

Jean presses his mouth into a hard line and pulls a pair of tweezers from the first aid kit. “Steadiest hands in town,” he answers, inching closer to Marco’s arm. 

Marco’s breath hitches every time Jean pulls a piece of gravel from his arm. He has no idea if he’s hurting Marco, cause the freckled boy is refusing to say anything as Jean works. Jean rechecks the arm twice before sitting back.

“Okay, I think I got them all.”

“See? Piece of cake,” Marco says, looking down at his arm. It’s still a nasty scrap, but at least the bleeding stopped and Jean got all the gravel out. Jean hands Marco the wet towel and digs through the first aid kit. He pulls out tape and gauze pads, and starts opening the packs. 

“Here,” he says, leaning back in and placing the gauze pad over the scrap. “Hold that,” he tells Marco, who obeys, placing his hand over the pad. Jean tears off two pieces of med tape and attaches the pad to Marco’s arm. They both pull their hands away. Marco holds the arm out. 

“Thanks,” he whispers. Jean looks up at him, and Marco’s already there, staring at Jean with soft eyes and an even softer mouth. 

“Um,” Jean says, his throat suddenly dry. He tries again, but Marco cuts him off. 

“I should wash off,” Marco says, gesturing to his arm and getting to his feet. 

Jean doesn’t say anything as Marco walks away. He waits a beat, deciding what to do, then stands and heads after him. Marco turns the sink on and dips his arm under the water, using his other hand to scrub off the drying blood. He’s careful not to get the gauze pad wet, just soaks the rest of his injured arm and most of his other as he washes off the blood. Jean steps behind him, his mind made up. He lectured Eren enough on doing what felt right, might as well follow his own advice. 

Marco turns his head slightly, his eyes darting over his shoulder and Jean knows he can see him, see how close he is. Marco takes a small breath, reaching out and turning the water off. He starts to turn, so slowly Jean has to resist the urge to yank him around. But he doesn’t want to scare Marco. He doesn’t really know what’s going to happen either, he only knows what he wants to happen. When Marco finally gets all the way around so he and Jean are facing each other, he takes his time raising his eyes to Jean’s. Their faces are close enough to feel each other’s breath, however short and shaky. Jean brings one hand to Marco’s waist. Marco inches closer to Jean, tilting his head in the process, and that’s all the invite Jean needs. 

His jaw goes first, always so much quicker than the rest of his body. It juts out, allowing his mouth to quickly find Marco’s. Jean closes his eyes, knowing Marco has already done so, and brings his other hand up to Marco’s waist. He doesn’t hesitate this time to dig his fingers into the skin, tugging Marco closer and moving his lips with the freckled boy’s. Marco loops his arms around Jean’s shoulders and pulls Jean towards him. Jean effectively presses Marco back against the sink with his own body, arching over Marco as the kiss deepens. Jean waits desperately for Marco to find his lip like last time and Marco fucking delivers, grasping Jean’s lower lip between his and sucking gently. Jean can’t stop the small noise of pleasure that comes from the back of his throat. But Marco doesn’t complain. He also doesn’t complain when Jean slowly eases his tongue out, pressing his way through to Marco, who welcomes it, if nothing but curious. Their tongues dance immaturely, as if neither of them know what they’re doing, which is probably true. They stay like this, mouths finding out everything they can, hands grabbing at skin as their temperature rises. Jean breaks the kiss for a tiny second to suck in air, his lips barely leaving Marco’s. Still, the separation causes the smallest of whines to come from Marco, and Jean eagerly dives back in. He dares to creep one hand further down from Marco’s waist, his fingers brushing Marco’s ass. Marco responds by pulling Jean closer and bucking his hips forwards slightly. Jean’s pants feel tight suddenly, and he digs harder into Marco’s skin. 

Marco pulls away then, and Jean can barely hide his disappointment. Both are breathing hard and trying not to show it. One of Marco’s hands slides down from around his neck and cups Jean’s face. Jean nudges his face forward again, and Marco lets him kiss him lightly on the lips, before retreating again.

“Have you ever had a boyfriend before?”

Jean is so startled by this question he flinches, not in pain but in surprise. He leans away from Marco so their bodies are not pressing against one another, but he can’t bring himself to let go of Marco’s waist. 

“Uh,” he starts, then clears his throat. Marco stares at him with those big eyes, waiting patiently. “No. Have you?”

“No.”

Again, Marco surprises him. Jean had just assumed from the way Marco looked at his lips so early on in their meeting that Marco only liked boys. Even now, Jean isn’t upset by this, he just becomes flustered. Because he’s been going around thinking Marco knew what he wanted and he was just waiting for Jean to catch up. But now the situation is more along the lines of: Neither of them knows what the fuck they are doing. 

“Is that what you want?” Jean asks Marco. And in the seconds he spends watching Marco process this question, he asks himself the same thing. What do you want, Jean? It shocks him how quickly the answer comes to him. 

Marco. Of course, Marco. Jean’s sick of trying to write off his feelings as anything other than simple desire. And not even just for Marco’s mouth, because he’s only gained access to that recently. No, Jean wants it all. He wants Marco’s floppy hair and freckled fair, he wants Marco’s kind smile and teasing shoulder nudge, he wants Marco’s light laugh and the crinkles around his eyes. God dammit, he wants the way Marco doesn’t stick his lip out in pity at Jean, he wants Marco’s ability to make everyone around him smile, he wants his own laugh and smile that Marco’s able to pull out of him every time he comes around. How could Jean have been spending the last few weeks thinking the racing in his chest whenever Marco rode up to garage was wrong? 

With this, Jean realizes he’s wasted enough time. 

“Go out with me.”

“What?” Marco blurts, giving off a half laugh like he thinks Jean is joking. When he realizes he’s not, he raises his eyebrows. “What, like now?”

Jean glances at the clock on the wall. It’s almost eight. 

“Do you have any more messages to deliver?”

“No.”

“Are you hungry?” 

“Yes.”

“Are you still mad at me for busting open your arm?”

“What are you talking about, I don’t blame you for me falling.”

“Do you want to go out with me?” 

“Yes.” Marco says, and there’s a difference in his tone, a sort of release. Like a weight’s been lifted off his freckled shoulders. Like he’s been waiting for Jean to ask him this so he could have the opportunity to say it out loud, for both of their sakes. Like he’s been wanting to admit it to both Jean and himself and is finally getting the chance to. Jean smiles at him, and Marco immediately returns it, his one hand streaking into Jean’s hair. 

“Go out with me, Freckles,” Jean says. “Pizza shop down the street. One-minute walk.”

“How,” Marco starts, letting go of Jean and rolling his eyes. “Could I possibly say no to pizza?”

Jean chuckles, dropping his hands and heading to the door. He pats his pocket to make sure his wallet is in there, and flips the arrow up on the control panel. Door #1 raises, and Marco cocks his head.

“How are you gonna close this thing once we leave?” he asks, and Jean freezes. Quickly, he stops the door, flips the arrow down, and starts to close the door. Marco laughs. Jean scowls at him, and heads for the lobby. Marco follows him, still laughing. 

“I’ve never been in here,” Marco says absentmindedly, as Jean leads him through to the front door. “Is there where your mom works?”

“Yeah, that’s her desk,” Jean says, pointing to the front desk. Marco pauses for a moment as Jean holds open the front door, waiting. Marco steps in behind the swivel chair, and peers down at the desk, for so long that Jean furrows his eyebrows. “See something you like?”

“Is this your dad?”

Jean stops, not expecting Marco to say this. He hesitates, for some reason he can’t think of, before stepping away from the door and walking up next to Marco. He follows Marco’s gaze. There, tucked in the corner of his mother’s desk, is a tiny, wallet sized picture of his mother and his father. Jean has always stood on the other side of the desk when he comes into the lobby to speak with his mother. There’s a small, raised barrier between the desk and the rest of the world, where customers and Jean rest their forearms and lean down to speak to Jacklyn. From their vantage point, the picture is completely out of sight. 

But now, Jean is standing behind Jacklyn’s desk chair, in her line of sight, and the picture is right there, tapped to the inside of the barrier wall. His mother is looking at something behind the camera, and she’s laughing. She looks so young, maybe her early twenties, and Jean wonders if he’s even been born yet. His father is looking at Jacklyn, and he’s smiling, beaming with glee as he watches Jean’s mother laugh. 

Jean doesn’t know exactly what emotion he’s supposed to be feeling. Nevertheless, he can’t deny the photo makes him happy. Because his mother is making the same face she often makes when Erwin is around. Utter joy. 

“Are you okay?” Marco asks plainly, because Jean hasn’t spoken in a while. Jean looks at him, this freckled boy with soft eyes and a touch that lights Jean on fire. And for a moment, a tiny, tiny moment, Jean wonders if he’ll ever look like his mother in the photo, with Marco by his side. But he tosses the thought aside. His parents were married for years at this point. He met Marco four weeks ago. 

“Pizza.” Jean says, and Marco smiles. They head out. 

While Marco grabs the slices from the cook behind the counter and Jean fishes for his wallet, he’s thankful Marco is busy setting the plates down. He didn’t want the awkward discussion of who was going to pay. Jean asked Marco out, it makes perfect sense for him to pay. But he worries Marco will argue, so he dashes for his wallet. 

Of course, when he opens it and discovers there is no money inside, his insides turn cold. 

“Fuck,” he swears under his breath. Marco comes up behind him, looks down at the wallet, and begins to laugh. 

“No way,” he gasps, clutching his stomach. He reaches into his own pocket and pulls a wallet out. He continues to giggle under Jean’s glare as he pays, smiling as the girl behind the counter hands over his change. Jean stalks to the table.

“Hey, angry face,” Marco says, as he sits down. He takes a bite of pizza. “Where would you be working if the garage didn’t exist?”

“Not an option,” Jean says, digging into his own pizza.

“No, seriously,” Marco says. Jean sighs, thinking.

“Probably Auto-Bob,” Jean says finally, around a mouthful of pizza. 

“Isn’t that all the way across town?” 

“Yeah,” Jean says, swallowing. “But, I know more about cars than anything else. I’d be useful at Auto-Bob. They’ve offered me jobs before.”

“I’m always surprised that you’ve never worked a basic cashier job,” Marco says as he eats his slice. “I just assume everyone has at some point.”

“Is that what you’d be doing?” Jean asks Marco. “If you weren’t a Maria Messenger? Cashiering?”

Marco chuckles. “Maybe. That’s what I was doing when Levi asked me to work for him. I was working both jobs for a while, but couldn’t keep up.”

“Yeah, you left a life of scanning diapers to delivering them,” Jean says in a fake admiring tone. “Truly inspirational.”

“I do not deliver diapers.”

“Oh, you’d be so lucky.”

“Shut up,” Marco says, flicking an olive at Jean. Jean dodges it, then picks up a piece of pepperoni to fire back when Marco freezes. He’s staring at something over Jean’s shoulder. “Woah, woah, woah. Is that Sasha and Connie?”

Jean whips around in his seat and looks out the window. For a second he’s worried Marco means his two coworkers are coming into the pizza shop, but it’s quite the opposite. Sasha and Connie are across the street from the shop, holding hands. Jean and Marco watch them as they stroll down the sidewalk, talking with one another, Sasha using her hands to express herself. They are still watching as the couple stops, turns, and enters a tattoo parlor. 

“Oh, no fucking way.” Jean says. 

He and Marco jump to their feet at the same time, grabbing their empty plates and tossing them in the trash as they bolt from the shop. Jean stops Marco from sprinting across the street, instead takes a hold of his hand and leading him across when it’s clear. Marco throws Jean a quick look, like he sees right through him and his tricks. Jean throws him a look right back, daring Marco to call him out on it. But Marco only laughs. 

Jean lets go of Marco’s hand once they’re across the street. The two creep alongside the buildings that lead to the tattoo parlor. There’s a big window looking inside, but it’s just as easy to see outside as it in looking in, and Jean doesn’t want his coworkers catching him and his new date. 

So Marco and Jean very slowly, very carefully, peer into the shop by the corner of the window. Plain as day, they can see Sasha and Connie sitting in opposite chairs, holding hands and beaming at one another. Jean and Marco fall back, gaping at each other. 

“They’re getting matching tattoos,” Jean says, in utter disbelief. 

“I thought they just started dating, like, a week ago,” Marco says.

“They did,” Jean clarifies, peering back into the window in case he imagined what he just saw. But no, Sasha and Connie were sitting there, and an artist was leaning towards Sasha with an ink gun.

“Wow, that’s commitment,” Marco says. He shakes his head. Then he cracks a sly grin. “Hey, Jean—“

“Don’t even think about it, Freckles.” And then Jean smiles, because Marco is laughing.


	12. Twizzlers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyoneeee so sorry it's taken me a long time to get this chapter out, i've been really busy with work :( Anywayss very chill chapter, so i hope you enjoy! Thank you for your patience and all you lovely comments! <333

“What the literal fuck.”

Jean looks up from the lifted hood of the minivan and spots Eren staring down the Ford pickup truck. The clipboard is in his hands, flipped over to the second page, which usually consists of specific instructions from the customer. Typically, Jean ignores this page on his own vehicles, because he assumes he knows the car better than any customer that comes through the door. But Eren and the other employees take note on the customer’s preferences. 

“What’s wrong?” Jean asks, walking away from the minivan and coming up behind Eren. Jean notices the enormous dent on the side of the pickup truck, as well as the destruction to the front bumper. “Accident?”

“Yeah,” Eren says, shaking his head at the second page of the report. “But it happened almost a week ago, and they’re just now bringing it in.”

“So?” Jean continues, pressing a hand against the side of the vehicle where the dent is. “Some people are lazy about it. How many cars did you see on your way to work today with dents in them?”

“That’s not what’s weird,” Eren says. “They told your mom they didn’t want us touching the dents.”

“What?” Jean asks, standing next to Eren and reading the report over Eren’s shoulder. “They what?”

“Look at this,” Eren says, handing over the clipboard to Jean. “Oil change, new tires, repair severed brake lines, and don’t repair dents made to vehicle.”

“Severed brake lines?” Jean questions, looking over the report. Eren’s right, it’s written that City-Bound employees are not to repair the damage on the exterior of the truck. Jean hands the clipboard back to Eren and walks away to retrieve his creeper. He returns to the pickup and lays across the creeper, pulling himself under the vehicle. He aims his flashlight at the brake lines, noting they’ve been cleanly cut, not frayed apart as if by old age or lots of hard use. 

“This is so stupid,” Eren says, crouching down and looking at Jean. “Did someone straight up try to off this dude?”

“I don’t know,” Jean says, rolling back out. “And honestly, I don’t care. Just do what the board says and fill out a report.”

“Whatever,” Eren says, tossing the clipboard onto the floor. “Hey, what time is Connie coming in?”

Jean immediately bursts into laughter. Eren looks at him strangely, and Jean holds up a hand. 

“Sorry,” he says. “He’s off today.”

Eren nods, walking towards the tire racks. Jean, still giggling to himself, heads back to his minivan. Jean hasn’t told Eren or his mother about Connie and Sasha’s matching tattoos, but only because the couple begged him and Marco not to. 

The day after Jean and Marco spotted them at the shop, Connie and Sasha strolled into the garage at the start of their shift to see Marco and Jean patiently waiting on the couch for them. 

“What’s going on?” Connie asked, as Sasha shouted, “Hey Marco!” at the same time. 

“Take off your shirts.” Jean demanded, a smirk playing on his lips while Marco beamed with glee next to him. 

“Excuse me?” Connie balked, his eyes bugging out at Jean. Sasha however, starting pulling at the hem of her shirt. Connie grabbed her hands frantically. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Come on,” Marco said, smiling wide. “Stop playing, we saw you two.”

“Saw us where?” Connie asked, while Sasha still held onto her shirt. 

“At the tattoo parlor,” Jean says, cocking at grin at his two coworkers. Connie’s eyes were the size of dinner plates. Sasha started to giggle like a little girl, her face holding the same glee as Marco’s. Connie glared at her. “So, let’s see them,” Jean said. Connie rolled his eyes, but he let go of Sasha and lifted his shirt as well.

They raised their shirts just around their rib cages, where the tattoos were located. Connie’s on his left side, Sasha on her right. Connie’s had the word “King” in cursive lettering, while Sasha had the word “Queen”. Both words were topped with respective crowns. The skin around the tattoos was red and raw, and Connie had a Band-aid covering part of the word “King”. 

“You bleed a little there, buddy?” Jean asked, no longer able to stiffen his full grin. Marco erupted in laughter. Connie’s face turned bright red. 

“Shut the fuck up,” he spat at Jean and Marco. Marco held his hands up.

“We’re not judging,” he said, still smiling. “Really, they’re cute.”

“Why were you at the parlor?” Sasha asked as she lowered her shirt. Jean blanked, not ready for this question. Marco jumped back in.

“We were eating at the pizza place across the street. Jacklyn had gone out with Ewrin.”

Connie and Sasha easily accepted this answer, Connie lowering his shirt but still glaring at the two of them. Meanwhile, Jean’s head was spinning. Why hadn’t he said he and Marco were on a date? They had been on a date right? Of course they were on a date, Jean had very clearly asked Marco out. So why hadn’t he just said that? And why hadn’t Marco said it either? Jean was so tuned out to the conversation still going on, he flinched in surprise when Connie kicked his shin.

“Hey!” he cried, looking into Connie’s angered face. 

“Don’t tell anyone else,” he said sternly. Sasha glanced at her boyfriend in confusion.

“If you’re so god damn embarrassed, why’d you agree to get them in first place?”

Marco looked away at this, understanding the situation was turning awkward. Jean saw him staring out at the tire racks, his mouth forming numbers as he counted the tires while Connie bantered with Sasha. Jean smiled at the freckled boy, and reached out instinctively to brush Marco’s shoulder. Marco paused his counting, smiling slightly and leaning back into Jean’s touch. 

“Listen,” Connie cut in, causing Marco and Jean to turn back to him. “I don’t want to get shit from Eren about this. And we haven’t told our parents yet.”

“About the tattoos?” Jean asked. “Yeah, I wouldn’t either.”

Connie and Sasha were silent. 

“Wait,” Marco said, his eyebrows raising. “Your parents know you guys are dating, right?” The silence was confirmation enough. 

“Really?” Jean questioned. “Why haven’t you told them?”

“My dad’s pretty high maintenance,” Sasha said sourly, looking at the floor. 

“She means,” Connie corrected. “She doesn’t think her dad’s going to approve of me.”

“Why, cause you’re shorter than her?” Jean asked, causing Marco to crack up with laughter. Jean couldn’t help but smile with proud when he made Marco laugh. Connie kicked his coworker in the shin again. 

“Fuck you,” he said. “Just don’t tell anyone. Including your mom.”

“Fine, fine,” Jean said. As Connie and Sasha walked away, Marco looked down at his wrist watch. Jean bit his lip, knowing what Marco was going to say and not wanting to hear it. 

“I should get going,” the freckled boy said, getting to his feet. Jean hid his disappointment as he followed Marco to Door #1. Marco mounted his bike and turned it towards the parking lot, looking back at Jean as he did so.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” Jean asked. Marco bit his lip then, and Jean faltered. 

“We were on a date, right?” Marco asked. His eyes flickered briefly with worry when Jean hesitated, surprised by the question.

Jean quickly got his bearings together, and turned to look back into the garage. Sasha was already on a creeper underneath her vehicle, and Connie had disappeared into the Lobby. Jean turned back to Marco, who was facing the street now. Reaching over, Jean placed a finger on the left side of Marco’s face and pulled him back to look at him. Marco’s breath hitched. Leaning over, Jean pressed a light kiss to Marco’s lips, pausing over his mouth for a moment after. 

“Yeah,” Jean said. “And we’ll go on another one on Friday, okay?”

“Okay,” Marco said, a little breathlessly. Then he left. 

Over the course of the week, Jean had learned of the brownie points associated with officially asking Marco out. He now had Marco’s cell phone number, which allowed him to find out when exactly Marco was going to turn up at the garage, so Jean isn’t constantly looking out Door #1, waiting for him to ride in. He also discovered Marco is even more touchy once he’s got full clearance. 

“Can you not?” Jean laughs on Wednesday night. It’s ten at night, and Jacklyn is already asleep upstairs. He’s lying on the couch looking over a new Toyota model’s manual, his back pressed against one armrest and his legs overtaking the two cushions, when Marco lies down on top of him. “Get off!”

“Too tired,” Marco mumbles into Jean’s shirt, but rolls over so his back is pressed against Jean’s chest. Jean, his heart hammering through his rib cage, so much so his face turns red at the thought that Marco can probably feel how hard it’s beating, places his chin on one of Marco’s shoulders. He rests the manual in Marco’s lap, reading over Marco’s shoulder. 

The next night Jean came into the garage from the Lobby to see Marco lying underneath the vehicle in Jean’s slot. Cocking his head, he headed over to the Nissan and laid down on his creeper, rolling under the car next to Marco.

“What the fuck are you looking at?” Jean asked once he was lying down. Marco sighed, shaking his head. 

“That’s the thing.”

“What’s the thing?”

“I don’t know what the fuck I am looking at.”

Jean laughed. He pointed at the brake lines. “Do you know what these are?”

“What did I just say?”

“Will you just guess?” Jean asked, his fingers brushing the brake lines. 

“Jean,” Marco said, in a voice that made Jean turn his head and look at Marco. Their faces were inches apart, Jean’s raised because he’s lying on the creeper whereas Marco was lying on the concrete ground. 

“What,” Jean whispered. It’s then that Jean felt Marco’s fingers knock against his. He’s unable to look down however, and was forced to fumble along as their hands found each other and finally intertwined. Marco’s cheeks flushed slightly, and Jean squeezed his hand. 

“What are they?”

“Brake lines,” Jean whispered. 

“They’re a lot different than the ones on my bike,” Marco said. Jean rolled his eyes. 

“Gosh, I wonder why.”

Part of Jean is thrown by how much of a couple they’re acting like. Not that he’s complaining. He’s getting more excited at the thought of going on another date as the week goes by. But still, it’s very new, for both of them, and yet they’re acting as if this is the way it’s always been. It isn’t until Friday actually rolls around that he gets it. He and Marco dating has been a long time coming. Eren saw it, hell, Reiner saw it, and now it’s finally happening. They’re too comfortable around each other to be tiptoeing through the dating phase. Even now, Jean would call Marco his friend before his boyfriend. There’ll still far from that word. Shit, they’ve only been on one date. 

Now, Jean rolls out from under the minivan, finally finished with repairing the light re-router. He pulls the gloves off his hands, tossing them in the trash before grabbing his phone off the stool next to the car. Clicking the home button, he sees a text from Marco. 

Be there around 6. 

Jean looks up at the clock, and sees he’s got around fifteen minutes before Marco should be there. He smiles, unlocking the phone and typing out a response. 

Don’t wear your work shirt. 

Am I meant to wear a suit instead?

No dipshit just don’t show up in that neon thing for once

Stop insulting my attire when you’re the one always covered in oil

Bitch just don’t wear the shirt

:)

Jean shakes his head, still smiling to himself. But when he turns around, Eren is standing right behind him.

“Jesus,” Jean exclaims, jumping back. “What?”

“Got a hot date tonight?” Eren asks, wiggling his eyebrows. 

“Oh, god, stop that,” Jean says, wincing at Eren’s facial expression. He side steps his coworker, heading to grab a towel and a bottle of cleaning fluid. 

“You’re texting Marco, aren’t you?” Eren continued, leaning against the minivan. Jean steps up with his supplies and shoos Eren off the vehicle. “Aren’t you?”

“Upset that I’ve made my move before you?” Jean asks, figuring there’s no reason to lie to Eren. There’s no reason to lie to anyone really, though he’s hesitant to tell his mother about the advancement he and Marco have made in their relationship. “Weren’t you supposed to ask Armin out by now?”

“Focus, Kirstein,” Eren says, narrowing his eyes at Jean. “Is it official then?”

“Yeah,” Jean says, unable to keep the smile off his face. “It is.”

“Fuck yeah,” Eren says, grinning as well, reaching over to slap Jean on the back. “Going out tonight then?”

“Going out where?”

Jean and Eren whip around to see two figures walking through Door #1. Jena squints to see through the sunlight, and is only able to recognize the two people after they’ve fully entered the garage and are heading straight for Jean.

“Reiner!” he exclaims, his face breaking out in a grin. His friend, Bertoldt on his heels, slaps Jean’s hand and yanks him in for a hug. 

“How the fuck have you been?” Reiner asks, letting go of Jean and stepping back. “Eren,” he nods at the brunette, who nods back in greeting. 

“I’m great,” Jean says, because it’s the truth. Jean fumbles in his brain, trying to remember the last time he saw Reiner and Bertoldt. Was it the day they went out to lunch? Or had they come by the garage since then? Had Jean been there? “What’s up with you guys?”

“Never did end up going to the beach,” Bertoldt says, folding his long arms across his chest. “Disappointed in you, Kirstein.”

“Oh,” Jean says, but he bristles slightly. The memory hurdles back at him, and he remembers then the last time he saw his two oldest friends. Reiner’s backhand comment about Marco resulted in Jean not seeing the freckled boy for three days. Unconsciously, Jean narrows his eyes at Reiner. The big guy chuckles. 

“Told you he’d still be mad.”

“Fuck you,” Jean says immediately, thinking he has every reason to still be mad. 

“Jean,” Bertoldt says, taking a step forward. “Come on, it’s been like weeks since that happened.”

“You really embarrassed him,” Jean says, though that wasn’t the only problem. Reiner had embarrassed Jean as well, calling Marco his boyfriend without even being properly introduced, and during a time when Jean hadn’t yet worked out his feelings for Marco. “That shit wasn’t cool.”

“And if I ever see the guy again, I’ll apologize,” Reiner says, rolling his eyes. Jean freezes, his eyes flickering to the clock. Bertoldt catching him. 

“Oh my god,” he says. “Is he coming? Is he on his way?”

“No,” Jean says, his head spinning like the wheel of Marco’s bike. But the clock reads 6. Marco will be there any second. And not only will Reiner and Bertoldt be seeing Marco for a second time, which wouldn’t be a problem if their first meeting hadn’t gone so terribly, Marco and Jean should be leaving for their date. After making such a big deal of Reiner calling Marco his boyfriend, they’ve arrived just in time to see Jean actually taking the freckled boy out. Perfect. 

“Do not,” Reiner says, his eyes getting big with excitement. “Do not tell me he’s coming. Are you serious? Are you actually serious? Are you going on a date?”

“Guys, seriously—“

“Are you fucking gay?”

Eren stiffens next to Jean, who had forgotten the brunette was even there. Eren can’t read Reiner’s tone like Jean can, and must think Reiner is trying to offend Jean again. But Jean knows his friend is just confused, more curious than anything. Jean had never given any indication in Middle or High School that he was gay, and even now Jean doesn’t know. He had never felt this way about a guy before, or really anyone in general. He hadn’t thought about it in terms of labels.

“Yeah, he’s on his way,” Jean says now, slowly, trying to get Reiner and Bertoldt to understand the situation, and the circumstances around it. “We’re dating.”

“Oh my fucking god,” Bertoldt says, realization dawning on his face, a smile creeping on his lips. 

“Are you serious?” Reiner asks again. Jean rolls his eyes, effectively confirming it for Reiner. “Fuck yeah, Kirstein!” 

As Reiner reaches forward and engulfs Jean in a hearty hug, Jean notices Eren moving behind him. Side stepping the three others in the garage, Eren walks towards Door #1 and slips around outside, moving out of sight from Jean. Confused, Jean stretches his neck, trying to see where Eren went, but he’s unable to. Reiner sets him down. 

“Always figured one of us would be gay,” Reiner says, shaking his head. “Thought it’d be Bertie.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Bertoldt says casually, and Jean rolls his eyes again. 

“Don’t embarrass him again,” Jean says, jabbing a finger at Reiner. “Seriously, he avoided me for days after the shit you said.” Really, Marco avoided Jean because of Jean’s reaction, but Jean’s not going to say that. Not now. 

“I’m sorry, did your dick shrivel up and fall off?”

“No, but I’ll yank yours right off if you make fun of him again,” Jean says, and Bertoldt giggles as Reiner and Jean glare at each other. 

“Listen,” Reiner says, clapping his hands together. “Let’s all go out. Grab a bite, make amends. I’ll pay.”

Jean pauses. That’s not the worst idea ever, but it’s certainly not the best. He looks at the clock again, and frowns. Marco should have been there by now. 

“Where are you guys going tonight anyways?” Bertoldt asks, making Jean tear his eyes away from the clock. 

“The drive in theater,” Jean says, looking over their shoulders at Door #1. He doesn’t see Marco riding up the parking lot, and he also still doesn’t see Eren. Where did he go?

“How romantic,” Reiner says, tilting his head and sticking his bottom lip out at Jean.

“That shit,” Jean says, pointing his finger back at Reiner. “That’s the shit I’m talking about. Don’t do that.”

“Relax, lover boy—“

“What the fuck did I just say.”

“Okay, okay,” Bertoldt says, placing one hand on each of their shoulders. “Calm down. Reiner, ease up.” Reiner held his own hands up in surrender. “Jean, just get dinner with us.”

Jean sets his mouth in a hard line. “I’ll ask Marco when he gets here.” 

“Well, where is he?” 

Jean frowns. Then, behind Reiner and Bertoldt, Jean sees Eren peek his head back into the garage.

“I’ll be back in a second,” Jean says, walking away from his friends. “Don’t fuck anything up in here.”

Jean heads towards Door #1, and Eren pulls his head back. Turning right as he exits the garage, Jean is very surprised to see Marco standing outside with Eren.

“Freckles,” Jean starts, his voice low as he steps out of sight from Reiner and Bertoldt. “What are you doing out here?”

“Sorry,” Marco says, his voice just as low. “I saw them in there, I figured I should wait.”

Jean goes to answer but pauses, taking all of Marco in. He’s not wearing his work shirt, per request, in favor of an olive green shirt and tan shorts. His skin looks darker in this shade of green, his freckles taking over his face and neck and arms. Jean’s head fills with cotton as he looks at Marco. He looks so god damn adorable, Jean forgets he and Marco are talking.

“Jean,” Marco says, stepping forward and grabbing Jean’s shoulder. When Jean doesn’t answer, because apparently his mouth is just as full of cotton as his head is, Marco shakes the boy’s shoulder. “Jean.”

Jean can’t help himself. He takes Marco’s face in both hands and pulls him in, connecting their lips. Marco makes the same soft sigh noise he always makes when Jean kisses him. 

“Hello,” Eren cuts in, and Marco and Jean separate. “I’m still here.”

“Right,” Jean says, as Marco’s cheek flush and he steps back. “What, exactly, are you still doing here?”

“I saw Marco through the door and then he disappeared again,” Eren says, his hands on his hips. “I worried he had seen those guys and taken off again.”

“Not a lot of faith in me then?” Marco asks Eren, who scoffs.

“You weren’t here when Jean didn’t see you for three days,” Eren says. “He was in such a mood—“

“Alright,” Jean breaks, silencing Eren with a glare. He looks down at himself. “Look, I still need to change,” he turns back to Marco. “Just come with me, I’ll explain. Eren, fill out your report and leave.”

“Are you just going to leave those guys in there?” Marco asks as Jean leads him around the side of the building towards the Lobby. He nods at Marco. 

“Reiner will probably start working out with the tires,” Jean says as he and Marco enter the Lobby. His mother is in the waiting area talking to a customer. Jean and Marco slip past behind her and head for the apartment staircase. They jog up the steps and enter the kitchen. Marco plops down at the table as Jean heads for his bedroom.

“So what’s the plan?” Marco calls out as Jean opens his bedroom door, but doesn’t close it. He moves to his dresser and pulls out a clean pair of jeans. 

“Reiner and Bertoldt want to get dinner with us,” Jean responds, stripping off his work pants and tugging on the jeans. He briefly wonders if Marco can see him.

“Really?”

“Really,” Jean confirms. He pulls his shirt off over his head. “I can say no, but Reiner means to make amends for the shit he said last time he saw you.”

“Right,” Marco says, his voice suddenly a lot closer than before. Jean snaps his head towards his door to see Marco standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame. 

“Hey,” Jean says, swallowing. He’s very aware of the fact that he’s shirtless. He’s also very aware of the fact that Marco is staring at him. Fuck, he should have started going to the gym with Reiner. 

“Hey,” Marco says. 

Jean swipes his tongue quickly over his bottom lip, and takes a tentative steps towards Marco. The freckled boy straightens off the doorframe, and Jean closes the distance between the two of them. Marco already has his hands in Jean’s hair by the time Jean can get a grip on Marco’s waist, pushing him against the opened door of his bedroom. Their mouths attack each other, and Jean fleetingly thinks about how long it’s been since he’s seen Marco, when it’s literally been less than 24 hours. Jean presses his entire body on Marco’s. The freckled boy takes one hand out of Jean’s hair and tracks down Jean’s chest, his fingers brushing Jean’s nipple. Jean shudders, and Marco brings his hand back up to Jean’s neck, tugging him closer. 

“Your friends,” Marco whispers breathlessly. Jean’s mouth silences him, but he tries again. “Waiting…downstairs.”

“Shhh,” Jean mumbles, his lips leaving Marco’s to trail kisses down Marco’s face and neck. He hovers over one spot, and starts sucking gently. Marco immediately tenses. 

“Don’t you dare,” he says through gritted teeth. “Give me a hickey right before we get dinner with your friends.” 

Jean groans, but pulls back with a smile on his face. Marco returns it. His eyes drift up to Jean’s hair, and he giggles. 

“Sorry,” he whispers, fluffing the sandy hair down with his hand. “Got a little carried away.”

“Don’t apologize,” Jean says, not able to take his eyes off Marco’s face. 

“We should get going,” Marco says. “Put on a shirt for fuck’s sake.”

“Oh, as if you were complaining,” Jean says, finally letting go of Marco’s waist and heading for his closet. He pulls a black t-shirt off a hanger and pulls it on. Marco has already headed back to the kitchen. Jean reluctantly follows him. 

Once they’re back in the garage, Reiner claps Marco on the back like they’re old friends. 

“Let’s get some fucking food,” he says, leading Marco out of the garage, forcing Jean and Bertoldt to follow, both rolling their eyes. 

Later, as Reiner is paying for the bill and Jean and Bertoldt are telling Marco about their High School Chem class, Marco laughs, the sound filling Jean’s ears. 

“I was in the class right after you guys,” he says, nudging Bertoldt’s arm. He and the tall one are sitting across from Reiner and Jean. When they had arrived at the restaurant, Reiner had tried sitting next to Jean, and Bertoldt quickly squeezed himself next to the freckled boy to save everyone the embarrassment that was sure to follow had Reiner succeeded. “We always showed up to the Chem lab in a complete mess.”

“I’m not even sorry,” Jean says, placing his empty glass on the table. “I fucking hated that teacher.”

“Who, Mrs. Webber?” Reiner asks. “Ain’t she retired by now?”

“Fuck, man, I think she’s dead,” Marco says, causing the other three to bust up. 

“God damn it,” Jean says, covering his eyes with a hand as he continues laughing. 

“When’s that movie starting?” Bertoldt asks Jean. 

“Shit, what time is it?” Jean asks Marco, who looks at his watch.

“Seven forty,” he says, and Jean stands. 

“We gotta go,” he says, punching Reiner’s shoulder. “Thanks for the meal, bitch.”

“So fucking rude,” Reiner says, not even looking up from his phone. “But it’s cool, we gotta leave too, Bertie.”

“We do?” Bertoldt asks, he and Marco getting to their feet at the same time. 

“I told Annie we’d meet her before eight for a drink.”

Jean freezes. “Annie’s in the city?”

“Ah, I knew I forgot to tell someone,” Reiner says, shoving his wallet in his back pocket as well as his phone. “Yeah, for a week or two.”

“Who’s Annie?” Marco asks, as innocent as ever. 

“High School friend,” Bertoldt says carefully, fully aware of how still Jean is. But out of the corner of his eye Jean can see Reiner opening his mouth, and he winces. 

“She’s Jean’s old girlfriend,” Reiner says, and Marco pauses, his hand hovering over Jean’s arm. 

“Oh,” he says. Jean glances at him, but Marco has already dropped his hand and is looking to the door. 

“Right,” Jean says. “Well, we’re gonna head out. Thanks again, Reiner.”

“See ya later,” Bertoldt says, giving Jean an apologetic stare. Jean ignores it, turning and walking towards the exit. Marco follows him, silent.

Ewrin let Jean borrow his truck after Jean explained he was going to the drive in. He didn’t even ask who Jean was going with, and Jean couldn’t tell if that was a good or bad thing. He unlocked the truck as they got closer, and climbed into the driver’s side. He would have opened the passenger side for Marco had he not already learned Marco hated that. 

“Marco,” Jean says after ten minutes of quiet driving. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Marco says, looking up from his hands. “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

“Really, Jean.”

“We dated junior year,” Jean says, his grip tightening on the wheel. They were almost at the drive in and Jean really didn’t want to spend the rest of their date talking about Annie, who Jean hadn’t thought of in over a year. 

“The whole year?” Marco asks. 

“Pretty much,” Jean says. “We went to prom together.” 

“I knew you’d never had a boyfriend,” Marco says, glancing at Jean. “But how come you didn’t mention a girlfriend?”

“Why didn’t I think about my ex-girlfriend while I was kissing you?” Jean asks, and he notices Marco’s face break into a smile. He looks at the freckled boy, who is rubbing the side of his forehead and grinning. “Gee, I’ve got no idea.”

“Alright,” Marco says, the lightness back in his voice. “Fair enough. What movie are we seeing?”

“It’s a surprise.”

Jean pulls into the Drive In yard. He spins the truck around so the back end is facing the screen, which is already lit and playing trailers for upcoming movies. Jean reaches an arm around Marco’s head rest and backs up into a spot slowly. He puts the car in park and unbuckles his seat belt. 

“There’s blankets in the back seat,” he says, climbing out. “Do you want a snack?”

“We just ate dinner,” Marco says, closing the passenger door as he exits the truck. He opens the back seat door and pulls two blankets out. 

“That’s not what I asked,” Jean says. 

“Do you actually have money this time?” Marco asks, raising his eyebrows. “Or are we gonna have a repeat of the pizza shop?”

Jean narrows his eyes, remembering he forgot money and Marco was forced to pay for their slices. “Bitch, do you want popcorn or not.”

“I want twizzlers,” Marco says, heading for the bed of the truck. “Bitch.”

Jean walks away chuckling, and is still chuckling when he returns with two waters and a pack of twizzlers. Marco has laid the blankets out, and is sitting with his back against the rear window of the truck. Jean climbs in and sits down next to him, leaning back against the truck. 

“Here,” he says, handing over the pack of twizzlers and placing the waters on the floor of the bed. Marco accepts them with a small smile. But it immediately falls when Marco looks up and sees the title of the movie flash across the screen.

“What the fuck,” he whispers, turning to glare at Jean. “What the actual fuck.”

Jean is too busy laughing to answer. Marco shakes his head, tossing the twizzlers down.

“No, no way, no fucking way,” he says, starting to get up.

“Marco, woah woah woah, Freckles—“ Jean says, reaching over and latching onto Marco’s wrist. “Come on, where are you going?”

“You know I hate scary movies,” Marco says, still shaking his head, now standing on the bed of the truck as Jean holds onto his wrist. “I am not sitting here for two hours while this shit is on.”

“Come on, it’s The Shining! It’s a classic!”

“A horror classic!” Marco yelps, bending to look at Jean. “Are you kidding me with this, Kirstein?”

“Stay,” Jean says. Marco glares. “I won’t let you walk back.” Marco glares harder. “I’ll hold your hand the whole time.” And then Jean knows he’s got him. Marco’s shoulders slump and he sighs. Plopping back down on the bed, he bangs his head softly against the back window. 

“I’m not gonna make it through the whole thing,” he says. 

Jean reaches over and opens the bag of twizzlers. Pulling one out, he holds it out for Marco, who opens his mouth and bites down, pulling the candy out of Jean’s hand with his teeth. Jean takes Marco’s hand in his, intertwining their fingers. 

“You’re gonna have to,” he says, as the opening scene begins. “The ending is the best part.”

Marco’s head drops onto his shoulder. Jean adjusts to shift closer to make it more comfortable for Marco, who nuzzles Jean’s shoulder with his nose as a thanks. Jean can already consider their second date a success.


	13. Freckled Beauty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the cheesiest piece of fiction I have ever written. But I hope you like it! Sorry I'm the least reliable author for updating, but i swear on my life I will finish this story. Hope you enojoy<3

“What am I supposed to wear?”

“Oh hell no,” Jean replies, laying back on his bed and draping an arm over his eyes. “No way am I helping you with this.”

“Are you kidding me?” Eren retorts, throwing a wrinkled shirt at Jean, which lands on his stomach. “I’m basically the reason you and Marco are even together, and you can’t even help me pick out a shirt?”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Jean says, sitting up and grabbing the shirt off his stomach. “What on earth gave you the impression you deserve credit for my relationship?” He tosses the shirt back at Eren, who catches it with ease in one hand. “And when did I say you could wear my stuff on your date?”

“Five minutes ago,” Marco answers, returning from the kitchen with a pop-tart. “You literally said, ‘you can wear something of mine if you want’.”

“You,” Jean says, pointing a finger at Marco. “Are not helping.”

Marco smiles and flops down on the mattress next to Jean. He tears open the pop-tart package and pulls out one of the treats, handing it to Jean. Pulling out the other and taking a bite, he turns back to Eren. “Where are you guys going?”

“Restaurant on 5 th street,” Eren answers, holding the shirt Jean had tossed him up to his chest and looking at himself in the mirror. “Not exactly oil-stained-pants appropriate.”

“Unbelievable,” Jean says, stuffing the pop-tart into his mouth. Marco pokes him in the ribs, but he’s smiling. “You could wait for my mom to come home; she might have suggestions for you.”

“She also might want to take his picture like he’s going to the prom,” Marco comments, causing Jean to bust up.

“I don’t even own a button-up,” Eren says, shaking his head as he drops the shirt and continues rifling through Jean’s closet. “And Armin knows that. He’ll know I’ll have either borrowed someone’s clothes or gone out and spent money I don’t have just to look nice for a date. This is embarrassing enough as it is.”

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Marco replies, throwing out the wrapper and leaning back on his elbows. “Maybe Armin will be flattered you went out of your way to look nice.”

“Or maybe, he’ll regret ever having said yes to this date,” Eren speaks through gritted teeth.

“Hey,” Jean says, getting off the bed and walking towards Eren. “Don’t think like that. Just…here—“ he pulls a dark red cotton shirt off a hanger and hands it to Eren. And I know you own other pairs of pants than the work ones. Go home, take a shower, change and pick him up.”

Eren takes the shirt and holds it up to himself like he did the others. He grimaces in the mirror, and Marco pipes up.

“Don’t be nervous. I’ve only met Armin a few times, but every time he’s always found a way to mention you. It’s never nothing when someone’s always got you on their mind.”

Jean claps Eren on the shoulder. “It’ll be fine. Try not to shit yourself.”

“Fuck you,” Eren replies, but a smile is starting to spread across his face. He nudges Jean with his shoulder. “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” Jean replies, grinning back.

Eren heads for the door, fist bumping Marco as he leaves. Jean listens for the staircase door to open and close before diving at Marco.

“No!” Marco exclaims, jumping off the bed just as Jean reaches him. The mechanic lands on the bed on the spot Marco just vacated, flopping like a fish on the mattress. He groans loudly into the sheets, burying his face.

“Why not?” he whines, lifting his head.

“You told Reiner and Bertoldt we’d meet them for dinner tonight,” Marco says, grinning like a fool at Jean. He leans against the wall, folding his arms across his chest.

“We just saw them last week,” Jean complains. “Reiner has probably forgotten already.”

“Right,” Marco replies, huffing out a laugh. “Have you ever known Reiner to forget?”

“You know, I’m starting to think he has a crush on you,” Jean says, getting off the bed and standing in front of Marco. “Considering how often he asks to see us.”

“He’s asking to see you, I’m just part of the package right now,” Marco responds, placing a finger on Jean’s chest. “You told me you were a shitty friend after they left. He probably thinks you’re gonna do it again once the summer is over.”

“I won’t,” Jean protests, rolling his eyes. “Besides, they said they wouldn’t be here until seven.”

“It’s 6:59.”

“Plenty of time.”

“ _ Jean _ —“

He steps closer to the freckled boy and raises his arms, placing his hands on the wall on either side of Marco’s head. Marco shrinks slightly, and Jean leans over him, their faces now inches apart. Marco’s eyes glaze over as he looks down at Jean’s lips. The mechanic was only planning on teasing Marco, but now that they’re so close, he’s not sure he can resist. Marco’s hands are squeezing themselves into fists at his sides, and Jean wishes they would just give into the temptation and touch him, he’s burning up with want. Their breath is mingled together, their noses are brushing, and Jean is practically clawing at the drywall as he fights the urge to close the final gap.

Marco lets go of a shuddering breath. “Kiss me.”

Jean drops his arms, circles them around Marco’s waist, and yanks him off the wall. In one fluid motion, he spins around and drops them both onto the bed with Jean on top. Marco barely has time to get his breath back from being thrown down when Jean connects their lips. Marco raises a hand to rake it through Jean’s hair, tugging insistently, somehow trying to bring them closer together. Hands grab the hem of Marco’s shirt and lift it, and Jean breaks the kiss to tug if over Marco’s head.

Jean tosses the shirt aside and goes to plunge back in when he stops. Because Marco is shirtless.

And yeah, he’s the one who pulled the shirt off in the first place, but maybe he wasn’t really thinking of what that would get him. A shirtless Marco.

And he’s not as skinny as Jean thought he was. Which sounds weird but it’s true. Marco looks thinner with that baggy neon shirt on all the time, and considering how much cardio the kid gets, Jean wondered if he had any fat at all. But Marco, while still a stick figure compared to Reiner, has plenty of lean muscle. There’s a ghosted lining of abs along his abdomen, and his body is slightly less tan than his face. But the best part—the best part—is the freckles. They’re peppering his shoulders and the sides of his stomach. They lack in the center of his chest, but his collar is decorated with them. And Jean just can’t stop staring, and he’s sure he’s drooling.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Marco asks, pressing himself back into the mattress. He gives Jean a funny look, and pokes him. “Hey. Stop it.”

“Fuck, Freckles,” Jean whispers.

“What?” Marco questions, panic creeping into his voice. “Jean, stop it.”

Without another word, Jean leans down and sinks his teeth into Marco’s shoulder, driven by nothing but desire. Marco makes an almost strangling noise, and Jean worries he’s hurting him. But then Marco’s hands are back in his hair and he’s moaning and Jean knows it’s safe for him to continue with whatever the hell he’s doing. The bite turns into a sloppy lick, and travels down Marco’s chest until Jean’s mouth is hovering over a nipple. He hesitates, but only once, and not for very long. He swings his tongue around Marco’s nipple before closing his mouth over it and sucking.

“Oh my god,” Marco whispers, the fingers in Jean’s hair tightening around certain locks.

Jean rises, places his mouth on some part of Marco’s neck, just below his ear and jaw and latches on, sucking as he does so. Marco practically dies on the spot, writhing underneath Jean.

“ _ Fuck _ ,” he strains into Jean’s hair.

Jean cups the side of Marco’s face and tilts it upward, exposing more of Marco’s neck. He pecks kisses along his collarbones, then aims back for the sensitive area under Marco’s jaw.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs into freckled skin.

Marco’s entire body tenses.

“What?”

Jean stops, feeling hands slip out of his hair. He looks up, and sees Marco staring at the ceiling. Frowning, he rises onto his palms and leans over Marco’s face.

“Hey,” Jean says softly, a sort of worry building in his chest when Marco doesn’t look at him. “Marco?”

“Sorry,” Marco suddenly snaps, turning his head and rubbing it against the sheets for a moment. “Nothing, sorry—“

“Wait,” Jean says, cupping Marco’s cheeks and turning his head to face him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Marco stresses, holding Jean’s wrists. “Really, nothing…it’s just—no one’s…no one’s…”

“What?” Jean balks, jutting his jaw out in surprise. “No one? No one has told you how beautiful you are?”

“Oh god, stop,” Marco says now, his face turning red. “You’re making it worse.”

“Marco,” Jean says, bending his face down.

The freckled boy’s eyes widen, and he sucks in a breath. Jean closes the gap and kisses him, moving his lips in a fashion that already feels so familiar. His thumbs brush across Marco’s cheeks, and he turns his face to deepen the kiss.

“Beautiful,” Jean mumbles in between breaths. “So god damn beautiful.”

Marco makes his most classic soft noise, and Jean can’t help but smile.

It’s then that Marco freezes again.

“Jean.”

“Freckles, don’t you dare mention Reiner and Bertoldt right now,” the mechanic says, dropping his mouth back to Marco’s neck.

“I think I heard the door open.”

Jean stops, and just as he lets go of Marco and sits upright, he spots his mother in the doorframe.

“Oh Jesus,” Marco whispers, rolling out from underneath Jean.

Bolting to his feet, Jean goes to stand in front of Jacklyn, attempting to block Marco from her view. Not that it matters. He’s sure she’s seen enough. He can hear Marco digging around for his shirt, and apparently finding it, sliding the fabric back over his head. But Jacklyn Kirstein doesn’t take her eyes off of Jean’s. And while her expression is stone-like, her eyes are full of cold fury.

He hasn’t told her because he’s embarrassed, or because he thinks she won’t approve of Marco. It takes a lot for Jacklyn to not like someone, and she’s already expressed how fond of Marco she is. But that might not stop her from being angry about her only son not telling her he started liking boys. Well, one boy. And started being…active…with said boy. And this surely wasn’t the way Jean wanted her to find out.

To make matters even worse, Erwin is standing in the hallway behind his mother. He coughs loudly.

“Hey, Marco, I think your friends are waiting for you downstairs,” he says, his face even redder than Jean’s.

Marco falters for a second. “Friends—?“ But then he gets the idea and coughs as well. “Right, okay, thanks, I’ll just—“ He moves to squeeze past Jacklyn and winces. “Hi, Mrs. Kirstein.”

“Hello, Marco,” she replies, not taking her eyes off Jean. “Jean will meet you downstairs in a minute.”

“Okay,” Marco whispers, his eyes flashing to Jean’s. But then Jacklyn moves to the right, giving him enough room to scramble past her. He nods at Erwin in the hallway, who turns and follows him down the staircase and out of the apartment.

Jean looks down at his mother, and swallows.

“Mom—“

“What the fuck, Jean?” she bursts, stepping forward, forcing him to step back. “How long how this been going on? Huh? Since you met? Since he was here for dinner? Who else knows? Does Eren know? Does Sasha? Should I be surprised if I’m the only one who doesn’t? Are you two having sex? Is that all you’re doing? Since when have you started dating men—?”

“Okay, stop, stop, stop!” Jean commands, holding his hands out in front of him, his voice raising almost to a shout in order to be heard over Jacklyn. “Just…stop for a second. Okay? I can explain.”

“We’re not supposed to have secrets between us,” Jacklyn says accusatory. “You promised.”

“It’s not a secret,” Jean protests, though it really looks that way to Jacklyn. “Lots of people know, I just hadn’t gotten around to telling you because…because…”

Jacklyn raises her eyebrows at him, and Jean sighs, running his hands through his hair.

“Because I don’t really know what I’m doing,” he admits. “I don’t like boys…not really. I don’t look at Eren or Connie or anyone else any differently. But Marco…” Jean fumbles for the right words. “I can’t describe the feeling I get when I’m with him. And I don’t mean sex, we’re not having sex—“

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“Focus for a second, Mom,” Jean pleads, grabbing her shoulders. She folds her arms across her chest and stares at him, nodding slightly for him to continue.

Jean lets go of her and sighs, looking up at the ceiling. “Ever since I met him, it’s like he’s just thrown everything out of balance, but not in a bad way. And I mean it, we’re not having sex. But I didn’t feel this way about Annie, or any of the others. And maybe it’s just because he’s a guy but—“

“It’s not,” Jacklyn finishes for him. He stares at her. “Oh please, Jean, you wear your heart on your sleeve. Anyone who knows you has seen you changing this summer. And at first it didn’t make sense, but now it does. That boy has done something to you.”

Jean scrunches his eyebrows together. “A good something?”

Jacklyn smiles. “The best kind.”

“So…?” Jean stumbles. “We’re okay?”

Jacklyn rubs her temple and sighs. “Look,” she starts, pointing her hand at her son. “I’m not happy you didn’t tell me. I’m also not happy I caught you two…fondling one another in my house—“

“Oh, gross Mom,” Jean flinches at her description.

“Hey,” she says, raising her eyebrows again. “As punishment, no tech work for a week.”

“What?!” Jean cries out, his eyes bugging out of his head. “I just perfected the art of exchanging XM radios!”

“God, you are such a nerd,” Jacklyn scoffs, turning her back on Jean. “But I’m serious. I don’t care how much oil you get on your clothes, I don’t want to hear about you working on any tech. I’ll make Eren my spy.”

“You’re cruel,” Jean comments, moving out of his bedroom. But he smiles. “Mom.”

“What?” she asks, glancing over her shoulder. She sees him smiling and stops. She returns it.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she replies, stepping closer and kissing the side of his head. “Now go. He’s waiting for you.”

Turning on a heel, Jean whips open the staircase door and bounds down the steps. He enters the garage through the lobby door and looks around.

“He left.”

Jean spins, and sees his two friends. Bertoldt is sitting on the couch, his legs crosses, arms splayed over the back. Reiner is doing exactly what he always does whenever he comes into the garage. Trying to lift a car all on his own.

“Get away from that,” Jean instructs, coming down the few steps to the floor of the garage.

Rolling his eyes, Reiner takes his hands off the Kia.

“He really did leave though,” he says, throwing Jean a look. “Poor bastard was crying his eyes out—“

“Bertoldt,” Jean says, looking to his more sensible friend.

The tall boy is glaring at Reiner, but he turns to Jean. “He’s outside. Looked pretty shaken up. What happened?”

“Nothing bad,” Jean answers, heading for the opened Door #1. “But I mean, nothing great either.”

“Very insightful, Jean,” Reiner comments, earning an eye roll.

Bertoldt scolds Reiner, but Jean isn’t listening anymore. He swings around the entrance, and sees Marco sitting with his back against closed Door #2. He looks up when Jean’s feet hit the pavement, and even from where he’s standing Jean can see Marco’s breath catch. By the time Jean reaches him, he’s gotten to his feet but he’s staring at the ground.

“Hey,” Jean says slowly, coming up to his side. He stands a foot away, not sure what to expect. “You okay?”

Marco raises his head. “Yeah,” he says. His eyes waver.

Jean grimaces. “Look, I know that was really awkward, and I’m sorry you got put in that position—“

“No, no,” Marco cuts him off, pushing off the wall and facing the other boy. “I mean, yeah that was pretty terrible and I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to look your mother in the eyes again, but…it’s okay. I’m fine.”

Jean wonders when he first started being able to read Marco like a book.

“Marco, what’s wrong?” he asks, taking a step closer, reaching out to touch a freckled arm.

Marco bites his lip, his face overflowing with doubt and caution. It’s an expression Jean has never seen him make, sending him into a slight panic mode.

“I, uh,” Marco starts, rubbing his hands on his pants. “I heard you.”

Jean furrows his eyebrows together. “You what?”

Marco looks up at something, and Jean follows his gaze.

When Jean tells people he lives above the garage, he means: he lives right above the garage. The staircase in the lobby is parallel to the steps leading down into the garage, and the apartment is located directly above the garage. Not the lobby. The garage.

So Jean shouldn’t have been that surprised to see a window from the second floor right above Door #2. And it shouldn’t have taken him that long to realize it was the window of his own bedroom. And it really, really, shouldn’t have been surprising to him that the window was wide fucking open. It was summer for God’s sake.

“Oh,” Jean says, because that’s all he can think to say. He starts replaying the conversation he had with his mother back in his mind. He tries doing the calculations to figure out how long it must have taken Marco to get to this spot and how much of the conversation he could have heard.

“I just,” Marco looks across the street, his voice wavering as hard as his eyes now. He swallows. “You’re different for me too, you know. You’ve…thrown things off balance. For me.”

Jean stares at him. Marco isn’t looking back. He clears his throat.

“I should get going.”

“No,” Jean immediately says, unable to stop himself from stepping forward and clasping onto Marco’s waist. The freckled boy doesn’t pull away from his touch, but he still doesn’t look at Jean.

“I don’t think I can handle a dinner with Reiner tonight,” he says, shaking his head.

“Then we don’t,” Jean responds, moving his head to try and catch Marco’s eye. “We can go without them, we don’t even have to get dinner.”

“Jean—“

“Don’t,” Jean says, getting desperate. “Don’t leave when you’re mad at me, I won’t see you for days.”

“I’m not mad at you.”

Jean, a little thrown by Marco’s change in tone, composes himself before saying, “What are you then?”

“I’m…I’m…” Marco fizzles, running his hands through his hair, and Jean’s grip on his waist tightens.

Without warning, Marco latches onto Jean’s neck and lands his mouth on the mechanic’s. He’s so not used to Marco making the first move he almost takes his hands off the boy’s waist, but recovers in time to respond with as much enthusiasm as Marco, sliding their lips together and wrapping his arms entirely around Marco.

Marco barely, barely pulls away. His eyes are still closed and his lips brush against Jean’s as he finally gets his answer out.

“I’m falling in love with you.” 

* * *

Jean’s back rests against the armrest on the couch, his fingers set in thick, dark hair. Marco is sitting between his legs with his back to Jean, pressing against his chest. He shifts suddenly, sliding himself down further so his head rests on Jean’s shoulder. Jean adjusts accordingly, taking his hands out of Marco’s hair and wrapping them instead around Marco’s waist, pulling him tighter against him. Turning his head slightly, he kisses Marco’s ear.

They’re in the garage, well past their bedtime. All the Doors are shut, but Jean has kept one single overhead light on so he and Marco aren’t sitting in the dark. His mother and Erwin are upstairs, and he wonders if she’s noticed he hasn’t come back yet.

After Marco’s admission, the craziest thing happened.

It started to rain. Pour, actually.

After he yanked Marco out of the shower and back into the garage, Jean shot Bertoldt one effective look, inviting both him and Reiner to excuse themselves. Bertoldt, being the reliable source he is, received the message and, after some struggling, got Reiner back into his car and drove away. Jean told Marco he didn’t want him riding home in the rain. He had to finish work on the car left in the garage, and if Marco really planned on leaving, could he wait until the storm ended?

Marco agreed, and promptly fell asleep on the couch.

All this had been done while avoiding the fact that Marco had just told Jean he was in love with him.

And they were still doing that. After finishing the car, Jean climbed onto the couch, squeezing himself between Marco and the arm rest. He’d fallen asleep as well, but a clap of thunder had woken them both up. Jean guessed it was somewhere around three am.

Now, Jean is waiting for Marco to bring up his earlier confession. But, as is the theme for the freckled boy today, Marco surprises him.

“I think I lied to you.”

Jean tenses. He can’t see Marco’s face, but he can read his tone easy enough. He’s being serious.

“I’ve never had a boyfriend,” Marco continues, feeling Jean react. “But I had…someone.”

A part of Jean is dying to understand. Who was it? A guy? What does it mean to just be ‘someone’? What happened?

But another part of Jean, his stomach particularly, turns to lead. And he’s not so sure he wants to hear this story.

His fingers play with the hem of Marco’s shirt, but make no move to remove it. He takes a deep breath, and Marco moves along with Jean’s chest as it puffs out and in.

“Who?”

Marco brings his knees up to his chest.

“His name was Devon. And no, he didn’t go to our school,” Marco added, reading Jean’s mind.

“What happened?”

“I was sixteen, he was eighteen. He worked for my dad, you know, construction type things."

Jean didn’t know, because Marco never mentioned his parents in any context, ever.

“And I used to help my dad a lot on sight, just simple things like organization and inventory and dumb shit like that. And Devon, he found me one day and started talking to me and…I don’t know, he got to me. I didn’t even know I liked guys yet, but he said things and touched me and,” Marco swallowed, and raised a hand to rub his forehead.

Jean buried his face in Marco’s hair to hide his expression. Not that it mattered, Marco wasn’t facing him. He squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to hear anymore. The idea of Marco with someone else was sickening enough.  

“He was my first.”

Jean bit his lip so hard he thought the skin would break and he’d end up bleeding into Marco’s hair.  He clings to Marco, trying to control his breathing. The weight of this fact, the physical weight of this fact felt like it was crushing Jean.

He’d never considered the idea that Marco had already been with someone, especially since Marco did tell him he’d never had a boyfriend. Jean and Annie had plenty of sex, almost too much, but Jean knew being with Marco would be different, and not just for the obvious reasons.

But it was more than that. If Marco had just been telling the story of an ex, that would be simple. But Marco’s voice was tight and his body was stiff and something was wrong with this story, something was  _ wrong _ .

“Did…?” Jean swallows, his question getting stuck in his throat. He needed to know, but he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to handle the answer. “Did he hurt you?”

“Not really,” Marco answers after a moment. “It just wasn’t what I thought it would be like. And then I kept thinking it would get better, and it didn’t.”

He paused. “It went on for a couple weeks. He’d come get me on his breaks and we’d use the back office. I tried telling him I was worried my dad would catch us, but he didn’t listen. And then…he did.”

“Devon?”

“No, my dad,” Marco said, huffing out a broken laugh. “Devon had me bent over like a fucking dog on the desk and my dad walked in and that was it.”

_ I’m gonna be sick _ , Jean thought.

“He just started hitting him,” Marco says, covering his eyes with his hands. “And he wouldn’t stop and I tried to grab him and then he started hitting me instead. And Devon ran and left me there and my dad just kept wailing on me until someone looked through the window and saw us and called the police.”

Jean is not an emotional person, but suddenly it takes every ounce of his willpower to keep himself from crying. The idea of someone laying a harmful finger on Marco has Jean’s heart turning to dust. A lump forms in his throat, and he’s unable to swallow it back down. He goes to say something but stops, not trusting his voice to not give away his reaction. Marco keeps talking anyways, unaware of how his story is affecting the mechanic sitting behind him.

“I didn’t press charges against my dad, not wanting to put my mother through it all. Devon took off; he never came back to work, and someone told me he left the state. And my dad,” Marco rubs his eyes before dropping his hands from his face. Fleetingly, Jean thinks how if he ever met Marco’s dad, he’d probably kill him. “And while they didn’t say anything, I knew I couldn’t stay in that house. I had figured out I was gay, and that wasn’t welcomed in my dad’s mind. My aunt and I weren’t very close, and we still aren’t, but she couldn’t believe what my dad had done and I didn’t bring any trouble with me so she let me stay. My parents didn’t try and stop me, I think we all knew it was for the best.”

After a second, Jean lifts his face from Marco’s hair and opens his mouth. “Marco—“

But his voice cracks, giving himself away, and Marco whips around. And when Marco gets a view of Jean’s crumbled face, he panics.

“Oh, no, no, no,” he chants, twisting on the couch and looking up at Jean. “I’m sorry—I just, thought you deserved to know, I—“

Jean silences him with a kiss. It’s the sweetest one they’ve had all day, no urgency or lust behind it. Jean tucks his fingers under Marco’s shirt and draws circles with his thumbs into his skin, surprised by how cold Marco felt.

“I’m so sorry that happened to you,” Jean says once he’s pulled away. Marco’s eyes flutter back open. “Marco, I’m not…I’m not just in this for—“

“I know you’re not,” Marco says, placing a hand on Jean’s chest. “I never thought you were; you were too flighty around me to only want that.”

“Flighty?” Jean questions, tucking his chin back in surprise. Marco giggles at his expression, and a warmth spreads in Jean's chest at the sound of his laugh.

“I mean you started off wanting to kill me,” Marco says after. He’s adjusted his body so he’s situated in Jean’s lap, his hands on the mechanic's chest. “And then I guess you realized how cool I was—“

“There was never, nor will there ever be, a scenario in which I would call you ‘cool’,” Jean protests, shaking his head at Marco. “There’s a bell on your bike for God’s sake.”

“I didn’t put it on there!”

“Oh, you love it.”

“So do you.”

“I do not.”

“You’re such a liar.”

Jean’s grip on Marco tightens.

“Freckles.”

“Don’t,” Marco says, shaking his head at Jean. “You don’t have to say it just cause I said it, or because you feel bad for me.”

“Feel bad for you?”

“I know my story is fucked up—“

“No, that guy Devon is fucked up, and so is your dad,” Jean says, and seeing Marco flinch, Jean considers taking it back but can’t. It’s the truth. No one should be laying a hand on Marco.

“I’m never gonna hurt you like that,” Jean promises. “I don’t think I’m even capable of it.”

The freckled boy melts, shaking slightly in Jean’s arms as his forehead drops onto the mechanic’s. Jean leaves one arm around his waist, but brings the other to the back of Marco’s neck, cupping it gently and angling his head down so their lips can meet. 

Marco moves to kiss the corner of Jean’s mouth, and then his cheek. “I think the rain stopped,” he whispers. 

“I don’t care,” Jean replies, his eyes still closed. He kisses Marco's cheeks and eyelids and nose and mouth again.  “You’re not going anywhere.”


	14. Raining Tires

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't like when they fight :(   
> <3

“JEAN!”

“JEAN!”

“KIRSTEIN GET YOUR ASS IN HERE!”

The report goes flying out of his hands and he takes off, swinging around the lobby wall and dives for the door to the garage. He didn’t have time to check if there were any clients in the lobby, or inform his mother he’d figure out whatever the situation is. Maybe Connie and Eren are arguing over the power tools again. Maybe Eren caught Sasha and Connie having sex on the couch. 

Honestly, any of these options would have been better than what Jean found himself staring at once he got the door to the garage open. Which was all of the City-Bound employees, including Armin, bracing themselves against the 30 foot high tire racks in an effort to keep them falling. 

“Jesus fuck!” Jean exclaims, sprinting across the garage towards his co-workers. “What happened?”

“Connie was being a fucktard,” Eren grits out as he holds onto one part of the shelves with both hands, using all of his strength to keep the racks from falling. 

“Fuck you, Yeager,” Connie replies, grunting with his back pressing against the racks. 

Jean places his hands on the center shelves of the racks and pushes with everything inside of him. Immediately his muscles start to burn and his chest feels tight. 

“We’re not gonna be able to push this thing back upright,” Sasha calls out, her eyes completely shut with effort. “We gotta let it fall!”

“If we let it fall now, it’ll crush us all!” Jean counters, trying to push harder. “ _ Come on _ !”

“Half the tires are out already!” Armin yelps, and Jean notices his feet sliding on the ground as he tries to keep his footing. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Jean sees Eren’s hand slip, and the rack drops down farther, slamming into Eren’s shoulder. He gasps in pain, but continues pushing against the racks. 

“Jean, what the fuck do we do?” he calls out. 

Jean looks around, trying to formulate a plan. Connie and Armin are on his left, Sasha and Eren on his right. Everyone is struggling to handle the weight at this point, and Jean wonders how long they have been trying to keep the racks from falling. Eren’s face is beat red, and Jean can see the sweat sliding down Sasha’s forehead. 

He doesn’t want to, but Jean knows letting it fall is their best option. If they spend anymore time and energy trying to push it back upright, they’ll exert themselves, and the racks will end up squashing them all. They’d have to be quick about this. 

“There’s not enough of us to push to back!” Jean shouts. “We gotta drop it!” 

“How do we do that without killing ourselves?” Connie questions. 

“We’re gonna have to let go one at a time!” 

“No way!” Eren yells back, and Jean wonders how his mother hasn’t at least come to the door to see what all the screaming was about. “It’ll flatten the last person!”

Jean looked above him at the racks. Each tire weighed at least twenty-five pounds, and the metal shelves in total topped over a hundred. If it fell on them, it wouldn’t actually kill them, although it would hurt like a bitch. But there wasn’t a chance in hell Jean was going to let one of his co-workers take the hit. 

“Just do it! It’s our only option! Armin, go!” 

Armin looks over at Eren, who looks doubtful, but nods at him. The blond gently peels his hands from the shelves and takes off, stopping a good distance away from the racks. 

“Sasha, go!” Connie calls out. But she shakes her head. 

“It’ll be unbalanced,” she replies, her face contorting in pain. “You or Eren have to go next!”

“Both of you go!” Eren demands, finding the strength to take another step forwards, pushing the racks higher as he does so. He looks up at Jean, and throws his friend a cocky smile. “Kirstein and I got this.”

Sasha and Connie look conflicted, and Jean shoots them both a look of rage. They let go, leaving the weight of the racks entirely on Jean and Eren. The racks slip down farther, forcing both Jean and Eren into hunched over positions. The weight is almost unbearable, and Jean can hear Eren swearing under his breath. He looks up at Jean.

“You’re next!”

“Fuck you,” Jean responds. “You’re next.”

“I’ll settle on us both bailing,” Eren says, shutting his eyes for a moment. “On three?”

Jean tries to nod, but all his energy is on keeping this enormous weight from crushing him and Eren. 

“One,” he chokes out, praying Eren can hear him. “Two. Three!”

He lets go, turns, and runs like his life depends on it. The sound of tires clattering to the ground drowns out the sound of Eren’s footsteps, so Jean just has to hope he’s right behind him. Connie and Armin are standing an inch away from the falling racks, and Jean sees Connie reach a hand out and latch onto him. He pulls so hard Jean’s shoulder feels like it might rip out, and he finds himself sprawling to the ground. 

The racks crash to the floor a second after Jean falls. Immediately Jean turns his head and looks for Eren. The other mechanic is lying close by on the ground, Armin’s hand still clutching his arm. 

The garage becomes eerily silent, the only sound coming from the five teenages’ hard breathing. Jean pushes himself to his hands and knees, and eventually his feet, and looks behind him. Every tire is  around the garage, some of them still rolling. The metal racks look disfigured, prominent dents now reshaping their original form. 

“Are we all okay?” Jean asks. The others murmur their condition. Everyone’s fine. Eren staggers to his feet, and Armin keeps one hand on him. “Alright, someone want to tell me what the fuck caused this?”

When no one answers, Jean spins in a circle, locking eyes with all of the employees. 

“Someone cough up  _ now _ .”

“It was my fault,” Connie mumbles. 

Jean turns. “Why am I not surprised.”

Connie sniffs, and Jean almost,  _ almost _ feels bad. But whatever error Connie made almost got the entire staff killed. 

“I didn’t use the step ladder,” Connie explains. “I just...climbed up the side of the rack. My weight made it top heavy, and it started to tip. I fell off and Eren ran over and...”

Jean glances at Sasha, who is biting her lip. Jean connects the dots and glares at Connie. “You were trying to show off.”

Connie looks away. “I was being a jackass. I’ll pay for the damage.”

“That’s a given,” Jean snaps. “It’s coming out of your paycheck.”

“I think,” Eren pipes up. “Everyone should get one punch.”

“Hey,” Sasha snaps at Eren. “It was an accident. Back off.”

“He almost got us all flattened like pancakes!” Eren shouts, ignoring Armin’s insistent tugging on his sleeve. “Armin doesn’t even work here and you almost got him killed!”

“Ease up,” Jean demands, putting a hand on Eren’s chest. The other mechanic pants heavily, but relaxes. Jean turns back to Connie. “Go home.”

“Sasha was my ride,” Connie admits. 

“Then both of you leave.”

“We have appointments still,” Sasha protests. 

“You think I give a fuck?” Jean replies, furrowing his eyebrows at her and Connie. “What, do you just consider this a little break in between your dates? Some of us are actually here for a reason, not just to dick around when we feel like it. Get the fuck out of here. This is the second time in two months you’ve each put this shop and its workers in jeopardy. I don’t even want to fucking look at you.”

Sasha looks ready to cry, but Jean’s patience has run out. What if his mother had heard the commotion and come in to help? What if Marco had been here and gotten hurt? Eren was right, Armin didn’t even work at the shop and he’d gotten involved. 

Jean shakes his head. “The two of you are toxic together around here. Leave, before you burn the whole building to the ground.” 

Connie touches Sasha’s shoulder, and she walks away without another word. 

“I’m sorry,” Connie says to Jean, but he’s unable to look his co-worker in the eyes. Jean’s hands tighten into fists, and he considers Eren’s prompt to deck Connie across the face. Before he can make up his mind, Connie turns and follows Sasha out of the garage. 

Jean sighs once they’re both out of sight. It’s quiet in the garage again. 

“Jean?” 

He turns, and sees Erwin standing in the doorway to the lobby. He watches the older male scan the garage’s status, before looking at Jean. 

“Fuck, man,” Jean starts. “I’ll get it cleaned up--”

“I don’t care about the fucking tires,” Erwin says, coming fully into the garage, his face covered in concern. “Is everyone okay?”

Every ounce of Jean’s anger fades, and he suddenly feels exhausted. He sighs, and looks at Eren and Armin. 

“Yeah,” he answers as Erwin approaches him and places a hand on his shoulder. “We’re fine. It could have worse.”

“Yeah,” Armin adds, nudging Eren. “We could be pancakes.”

“Shut up,” Eren responds, slugging an arm around Armin’s shoulders. 

“I just came to tell you your friend is here,” Erwin says, his eyes on the knocked down rack. “The last thing I was expecting--”

“Wait, friend?” Jean asks, tucking his chin back in surprise. “What friend?” 

Anyone who knows him just enters the garage through one of the open Doors. Marco, Reiner and Bertoldt, Armin. No one stops at the lobby. It doesn’t make sense. 

“I guess she wanted to say hi to your mother before coming in,” Erwin says, and Jean’s stomach drops. 

“ _ She? _ ”

And then her figure appears in the lobby doorway. In all her fucking glory. 

Annie Leonhart. 

Her blonde hair is much longer than Jean remembers it, but it has been over a year. She’s wearing a leather jacket and jeans, and Jean vaguely recalls the weather app saying it was gonna hit 90 today. But it’s typical of Annie not to give a fuck about anything, including the fact she’ll probably get heatstroke. 

“Oh shit,” Eren whispers when he looks up and sees Annie standing in the lobby doorway. He glances at Jean. “Dude.”

“God fucking dammit,” Jean mumbles under his breath. 

“I’m guessing Reiner didn’t tell you I was coming,” Annie says as she steps down into the garage. “Your face is easy enough to read.”

“He told me you were in town,” Jean replies after a moment. “Thought you’d left again already.”

Annie shrugs as she comes closer. Eren and Armin both take a step back to clear a path for her as she heads straight for Jean. “Decided to stay a little longer.”

“To see me?”

“Among other things,” she says, finally stopping a few feet in front of Jean. Erwin has already disappeared again. Jean can’t blame him. He could cut the tension in the room with a knife. 

“Well,” Jean says, resisting the urge to cross his arms over his chest. “Got anything important to say?”

“Hey Eren,” Armin says suddenly. “You finish replacing that bumper yet?”

“Nope,” Eren says, getting the hint quickly. The two teens scurry off, away from the ex couple looking ready to slug each other. 

Annie watches them leave before turning back to Jean. Keeping an eye on him, she steps backwards and sits down on the couch.  “You’re acting like you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you.”

“Then fucking smile.”

And Jean decides he doesn’t need this. After the shit show that just went down with the racks, the very fucking last thing he needs is his ex-girlfriend making backhanded comments at him. 

“Why are you here?” Jean demands, thinking how very little he cares about her. 

Why the fuck were they ever together? Because they were both angry and bitter and bored? Jean asked her out when they were juniors in high school, a month after classes started. He met her through Reiner, who’d had a couple classes with her, and introduced them one day after school. Jean thought she was beautiful, and was pleased to find another person just going through the motions of high school like he was. And so they went on a few dates, and then a few more, and then it seemed official. 

As time went on however, their dates just turned into them fucking before Jean started work. Annie would come over, be there for around twenty minutes, and then leave. His mother noticed, everyone noticed, but Jean didn’t care. A few weeks before the summer entering their senior year, Jean called her, told her he was sorry, and ended things. She responded with a monotoned, “Okay.”

“My big plan was to shove all my accomplishments in your face,” Annie says now, leaning back in the couch. “But I don’t really need to, cause at least I’m not permanently stuck in this oil stained junkyard.”

_ That’s enough.  _

“If you’re gonna do nothing but talk skit,” Jean bites back. “You can leave.”

“What are you doing here, Jean?” Annie questions, narrowing her eyes at him. “I mean I get that your mother can’t leave, she practically built this place. But you?” 

“What, did you go to school so you could learn how to better run your mouth?” he answers, stepping closer. He sees movement out of the corner of his eyes and, assuming it’s either Eren or Armin, ignores it.

“I went to college to do something with my life,” Annie says. “But what did you do?”

“I made my own decision,” Jean replies. 

“No, you got scared,” Annie says. “You got homesick before you even left.”

“Get out, Annie.”

“You had a  _ scholarship _ , Jean,” Annie says harshly. “A mother fucking scholarship for the school of your dreams, and they were going to let you play. Hell, they were drooling over you and you fucking said ‘no thanks’.”

“It wasn’t the school of my dreams,” Jean says, shaking his head at her. “School was never part of the dream for me.”

“Oh, excuse me,” Annie says, gesturing over to the fallen metal racks and the countless tires scattered across the garage. “This looks like a fucking fantasy.”

“Leave,” Jean says, towering over her. “ _ Now _ .” 

Annie raises her chin at him. “Reiner says you met someone.”

Instantly, Jean wants to strangle her. Her pretentious attitude is enough to push him over the edge on its own, but if she’s going to bring Marco into the conversation, she should be prepared to protect her face should Jean feel the need to take a swing. 

“You’re gay?” Annie scoffs. 

“Fuck off,” Jean says, not bothering to deny it. She doesn’t have any right to be here right now, interrogating him. “It’s none of your business.”

“Jesus, Jean, what the fuck is going on with you? Are you that bored around here you turned to fucking guys?”

“ _ Get _ .  _ Out _ ,” Jean seethes. 

And then she smirks. The tiniest part of her lips creek upwards. 

“Is he blond?”

_ That’ll do it.  _

No longer above laying a hand on her, Jean steps forward, closing the distance between the two of them. Reaching down, he latches onto her upper arm with a death like grip, and hauls Annie to her feet. She begins to laugh, and Jean tightens his grip. He yanks her in the direction of Door #1, digging his fingernails into her jacket. 

“You’re such a fucking child, Jean,” Annie retorts as he lets go of her arm and shoves her out of the garage in one motion. 

“Do everyone a favor,” Jean says lowly, glaring at her. “Fuck off. No one asked you to come back, no one’s gonna be upset when you leave.” 

Annie’s face twists in anger. “At least I didn’t end up a fucking faggot.”

Jean can hear Eren drop whatever tool he’s using behind him and attempt to charge Annie. He can also hear Armin doing everything he can to stop him. 

And Jean’s hand has already tightened into a fist and it’s ready to rear back and land in Annie’s face, but he sees more movement out of the corner of his eye. A flash of neon green, whipping around the corner on the other side of the street. It happens too fast, and Jean is too far away to recognize if it’s him or not, but he freezes. 

He promised Marco. And no, Annie isn’t Marco. And hitting Annie wouldn’t cause Marco any physical pain. 

But Jean told him he wouldn’t hurt him. He wouldn’t turn into something as ugly as Marco’s past, wouldn’t become something that Marco feared. He wouldn’t turn into a monster. 

And Jean isn’t. He’s pissed, furious in fact, with Annie, but he isn’t a monster. He thinks of how Marco’s face would look if Eren told him he witnessed Jean decking his ex girlfriend across the face after she took a dig at Marco. He’d feel guilty, responsible probably, even after learning the full story. 

Jean relaxes his hand. He looks up at Annie coldly, and her composure cracks slightly. 

“Leave,” Jean says tightly. “Or I will make you leave.”

She hesitates. Jean takes one step forwards, and it’s enough. She turns on her heel and storms away. Jean can’t release the breath he’s holding until he sees her climb into her car and drive away. It’s only until after she’s out of sight that he turns his face to the sky, covers his mouth with his hands, and screams.

* * *

 

 

“I need some fucking caffeine. How the fuck do you stay here so late all the time?”

Jean cranes his neck around, and spots two feet standing next to the car. He rolls his eyes, and then rolls himself out on the creeper from underneath the Toyota. Eren is standing over him. Jean looks over at the clock on the wall. It’s almost six.

Jean frowns. “Didn’t your shift end like an hour ago?”

“It did,” Eren says. “But I’ve been working on the Chevy Connie was supposed to repair.”

Jean grimaces, and sits up on the creeper. It’s wheels creak angrily at him. 

“Sorry,” Jean apologizes. “I wasn’t thinking clearly when I sent them home. They had a lot of work to get done.”

“No, you were definitely thinking clearly,” Eren sighs, and sits down on the cement next to Jean. He holds something out. Recognizing his cell phone, Jean takes it from him. 

“Has--?” Jean starts to ask, then stops, looking down at his phone. The lock screen is lit up. He’s missed two calls and five texts from Bertoldt, one call from Reiner, and five calls from his mother. But there is nothing from Marco. 

“You should probably go see your mom,” Eren says, nodding towards the lobby door. “I’m guessing we’re both gonna be here pretty late.”

Jean sighs, and gets to his feet. He looks around the garage. 

“Armin head home?” 

“Yeah,” Eren nods, standing as well. He frowns. “He was still pretty messed up after today.”

Jean thinks for a second. “Connie probably would have killed himself if you hadn’t been in here.”

Eren shrugs. “I just happened to look over at the right time. You’re the one that saved everyone’s asses.”

“All I did was bark orders,” Jean disagrees, shaking his head. 

“Yeah, but everyone looks to you here,” Eren says. Jean turns to his co-worker, who rolls his eyes. “Don’t be confused, I’m not complimenting you. But your word is never questioned. And I know you were going to do everything to try and keep us all from getting hurt.”

“And you weren’t?”

“That’s not the point. This place would barely get by if it wasn’t for you,” Eren replies. He pauses, then looks up at Jean. “Is that why you never went to Stanford?”

Jean clenches his teeth together. “No. I didn’t go because I didn’t want to.” 

Eren stares at Jean for another moment. Before he can say anything else,  Jean heads for the lobby. 

The first person he sees is Erwin. The older man stops him with a hand on his shoulder before he can reach his mother. 

“Don’t bothering explaining Connie,” he says in a hushed voice. “I already told her it was an accident. She just wants to make sure you’re okay.”

“She mad I didn’t come talk to her sooner?” Jean asks. 

Erwin shakes his head. “She knows you’re busy. She almost went into the garage.”

Jean’s eyes almost bulge out of his head. Jacklyn Kirstein has never stepped foot in the garage. Not in her life. 

But Erwin nods. “I don’t know what you told the others, but if that tire rack had fallen on any of you, it would’ve killed you.”

“It didn’t,” Jean presses. 

“I know that,” Erwin replies, his voice deep and calm. It relaxes Jean. “I’m just warning you, she’s pretty upset about the whole thing.”

Jean moves away from Erwin and heads towards the front desk. The lobby is closing in ten minutes, but Jacklyn is already locking the front door. She looks up as Jean gets closer. 

Without saying anything, she lunges for him, wrapping her arms tightly around his shoulders and drawing him in for a hug. Jean sighs, and hugs her back. 

“Everyone’s okay,” he tells her as she sniffles. “We’re all fine.”

“The garage was never supposed to be this dangerous,” Jacklyn says, pulling away from Jean and wiping a tear from her face. “When the car lift broke and fell on Mike--”

“That was a freak accident, just like this was,” Jean says, placing both his hands on his mother’s shoulders. “And nobody got hurt this time.”

“Armin shouldn’t be in the garage, we don’t have the insurance to cover him if something happens--”

“Sure, try keeping Armin away from Eren,” Jean grumbles.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Jacklyn narrows her eyes at him. But then they grow misty. “I was so worried about you.”

“Everything’s fine, Mom,” Jean says, tugging her back in for another hug. “I promise, nobody’s gonna get hurt.”

She sighs against his chest, and Jean rests his head on top of hers. Jean grew taller than his mother when he was in the fourth grade. Jean used to joke that he was the parent now, since he towered over her. His father had laughed. 

Thinking this, Jean closes his eyes and squeezes his mother against him before letting go. 

“Eren and I have a lot of work to do,” he says. “I’ll be in the garage late.”

“That’s okay,” Jacklyn says, as she moves around the desk and starts turning off the lights. She pauses. “Did Marco come by today? I didn’t scare him off, did I?”

“No,” Jean laughs, heading for the garage door. “And no. He hasn’t come by today.”

Eren’s underneath the Chevy in Door #4. His feet are the only part of him visible to Jean. Checking the clipboard, Jean makes sure he’s completed the entire report before setting it down and moving to grab the waxing supplies. He decides he’ll clean the car in Door #1 before moving onto Sasha’s Jeep, sitting exactly where it’s been since this morning in Door #3. 

“Yo,” Eren’s voice calls out. Jean looks up, and sees Eren halfway rolled out from underneath the vehicle. “We got company.”

He follows Eren’s gaze, and sees Marco standing by the fallen tire racks. 

“Hey,” Jean says, putting the washcloth and waxing fluid down next to the Toyota. When Marco doesn’t turn around, doesn’t even acknowledge Jean, the mechanic walks towards him. “When did you get here?”

“Few minutes ago,” Marco says, not taking his eyes off the scattered tires and dented rack. He gestures around at the huge mess. “Do I even want to know?”

Jean shakes his head. “Just Connie being a dumbass. The usual.”

Marco nods. Scrunching his eyebrows together, Jean waits for him to say something else. But the freckled boy is quiet. 

“Are you okay?” Jean questions. He glances over his shoulder to check on Eren. The brunette is cursing under his breath as he works on the brake lines of the Chevy. Jean looks back at Marco. “Do you...want to go upstairs?”

“No,” Marco answers, shaking his head. “I finished delivering for the day. I was just stopping by.”

“Oh,” Jean says, a sort of tightness creeping into his chest. Marco has made a habit of staying late at the garage with Jean. It’s rare that he goes home for the night before one or two in the morning. It was just two days ago that he stayed for the entire night, he and Jean wrapped up together on the couch. After the storm passed. After he told Jean he was falling in love with him. Was he angry Jean never said it back? Marco had seemed so determined not to hear Jean say it then, he thought Jean was just taking pity on him. And since then there had never been a good time. 

Marco turns to leave, and Jean grabs his arm. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah,” Marco replies, sliding out of Jean’s grip, and that’s when Jean realizes what it is about Marco that’s off. He’s not looking at Jean. He hasn’t made eye contact with him the entire time he’s been in the garage. 

Marco moves towards the open Door #1 and reaches for the handlebars of his bike. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Wait,” Jean says, half jogging to the open Door. He grabs the front of Marco’s bike between the handlebars. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” Marco says, turning his head away. 

“ _ Marco _ .”

Jean is leaning over the handlebars now, trying his best to get in Marco’s face and make the freckled boy look at him. The bike messenger grips the handles of his bike tightly and frowns. 

“I…” he huffs out a harsh breath, shaking his head. “I don’t want you to think I’m making a habit of eavesdropping on you.”

Jean starts. “What?”

“I just didn’t recognize her. I got halfway into the garage, I was about to introduce myself when you said her name and I realized who she was and then I tried to leave--”

“You were here earlier?” Jean cuts in, completely letting go of the bike and stepping back. He remembers now the movement he saw out of the corner of his eye, thinking it was Armin and now knowing that wasn’t true. “You were here when  _ Annie _ was here?”

Marco winces at her name. “God, Jean, I know I asked about your ex-girlfriend but I didn’t realize you dated the Ice Queen.”

“I didn’t,” Jean says, anger starting to burn in his stomach. He’s not sure why he’s defending Annie, but it doesn’t seem right to agree with Marco right now. “How much did you hear?”

“You told me you played football,” Marco says, looking away from Jean and out across the street. “You never said you were going to Stanford to play. You never said you had a  _ scholarship _ .”

“That’s because I was never going to Stanford,” Jean says, bitterness soaking his tongue. “And the scholarship never mattered because I was never going to use it.”

“Never mattered?!” Marco spits back, finally looking Jean in the eyes. “Are you kidding me? You had a chance to get out of this shit city without even opening a checkbook, and you’re saying it never mattered? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Jesus, Marco,” Jean says, injured by Marco’s cold voice. “Why the fuck do you care so much?”

The freckled boy clenches his jaw tightly and looks down. “Do you honestly think I’d be here if I had the money to leave?”

Jean’s mouth was already open, but he holds back. 

“Do you honestly think, if I the option of going to school and leaving this city, I’d be riding fifty plus miles a day delivering people’s fucking Amazon orders? That I’m just doing this for fun? For the hell of it?”

“No--”

“Do you have any idea how sick it makes me to think you had a golden opportunity to do something and you threw it away? What I would have done for a chance at that?”

“Why didn’t you?” Jean demands. “You’re standing here bitching like my mother, but why the fuck didn’t you do something about getting scholarships and trying to leave?”

“I was too busy getting my ass pummeled by my homophobic father!” 

At that, Jean hears a clunk behind him, and turns around. Eren has dropped the screwdriver he’s been using, and is rolling out from underneath the Chevy. He gets to his feet and heads for the lobby without looking at the other two. Once he’s shut the door softly behind him, Jean swallows, and turns back to Marco. 

“Is it always gonna be like this?” He asks in a low voice. “You dropping in unnoticed, listening in on everything just to throw it back in my face later?”

Marco’s muscles are still clenched as he grips the handlebars tightly. 

“I have never looked ahead in my life and pictured myself somewhere besides this garage,” Jean states. “I never felt the same passion on the field playing football as I did in here, repairing one car or another. I never considered leaving, because there wasn’t a single piece of me that wanted to, or even felt curious. When they first called me I hung up. They called again and I spelled out ‘no’. They went on about my future and my plans as if they had any fucking idea, and I didn’t want any part of it. I wanted this. The garage and the cars and the fucked up tire racks, I wanted it all. I didn’t stay because I’m a coward, or because I thought my mother needed me. I didn’t go, because I didn’t. Want. To fucking go. Get it?”

“It’s like you’ve got glue on your feet,” Marco whispers. He looks at Jean and raises his voice. “It’s like you’re trapping yourself in, and you’ve thrown the key away.”

“Enough with the analogies.”

“I’ve never met someone who didn’t want more in their life. Someone who was actually okay never moving one inch to the left or the right. God, Jean, you,” Marco covers his eyes with his hands and rubs. “You’re never gonna learn. You’re never gonna see anything past these gray buildings, you’re never gonna experience something other than this city. You’ve lived here your whole life, you’re never gonna meet someone new--”

“I met you.”

“And  _ look at us _ ,” Marco speaks into his hands. “Why are you so okay with never seeing the rest of the world?”

“You sound like a Disney film, Marco,” Jean says, rolling his eyes. “If I could give you the scholarship, I would.”

“I don’t want it,” Marco says, lifting his face from his hands. “I want you to want it.”

“ _ Why _ ?” 

“Because I don’t want this to be all that you see!” Marco exclaims, throwing his arms out to his sides.  “Do you think about us and only picture me riding by on some neon bicycle while you change some soccer mom’s oil? Is that what you see for us? If I ever get the money to leave next year, is that gonna be it for us?”

“No, Marco.”

“Then what’s going to happen?”

“To be honest, I wasn’t thinking that far ahead!” 

Silence.

“God, Freckles, are you actually kidding me with this shit? I get that you’re in love with me and you want some white-fuzzed fairy tale but for fuck’s sake, I’m not--”

Jean stops cold. Because Marco’s crying. 

And it’s actually the worst thing Jean’s witnessed. In this moment, it’s worse than viewing his father’s corpse. Because at least then, Jean knew what was coming. The look on his mother’s face was enough for him not to have any doubt he’d peer up onto the table and see his father’s pale, veiny face. But this? Now? 

Some people are ugly criers. Marco does not fit into that category. His mouth opens a little and the tears build up in his eyes and then they streak down his cheeks, almost like they’re attempting to smudge his freckles and failing. And his lip trembles slightly before he bites down on it, like he’s trying to convince himself to keep it together. 

And Jean is too shocked to move. He’s too shocked to even breathe. His head screams for his body to move, reach out, touch him, _please_ _just fucking move_. But nothing happens. He stands there and watches, a useless statue. 

Marco knocks his kickstand up. 

“No,” Jean finally breaks through the silence. His voice is thick, as if he’s the one that’s crying. 

The freckled boy swivels his bike around, turning away from Jean and the garage. 

“Wait.”

“You could’ve said that earlier. We didn’t have to waste time like this.”

“Don’t,” Jean says, but his limbs still won’t cooperate. 

At the last possible second, just as Marco raises his feet to place on the pedals and ride away, Jean dives forward and grabs the back of Marco’s t-shirt. 

“Stop!” he shouts, clutching onto the fabric. “Marco, I’m sorry, I--”

“Is it always gonna be like this?” Marco says sourly. “You getting mad and saying some shit and taking it back after? As if it won’t mean anything if you say sorry?”

“But it doesn’t,” Jean protests, trying to stay calm as he panics internally. “Freckles--”

“Stop calling me that. And let go of my shirt.”

Jean freezes, wounded by Marco’s words. He swallows. 

“Tell me...tell me you’ll see me tomorrow.”

“Let go, Jean.”

“Tell me you’ll see me tomorrow.”

It hasn’t happened in weeks, he hasn’t gone more than 24 hours without seeing Marco in weeks and he’s not sure if he’ll even make it. Marco is part of the routine, he’s part of Jean’s routine, for fuck’s sake he’s part of Jean and if Jean fucks it up he’ll never forgive himself. He’d drag Stanford all the way to Marco’s front door if he needed to, but he can’t right now because he’s too busy trying to keep his hold on Marco’s shirt. 

“ _ Let go. _ ”

“No.”

“I said--” 

Marco twists around and grabs Jean’s wrist. In one single motion, he yanks the wrist around, sending a flash of pain up Jean’s arm. He cries out. Though he tries not to, Marco yanks harder and Jean’s forced to let go if he wants to keep that arm. As soon as his fingers release, Marco lets go and takes off. His legs pump hard and fast, pedaling him away from the garage. He’s out of Jean’s sight in a matter of milliseconds. 

Jean pants violently, holding his twisted wrist in his other hand. 

“Fuck,” he curses. Then louder. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK! FUCK!” 

Eren comes flying back into the garage and sprints to Jean’s side. He grabs his friend’s shoulder and shakes it, asking what’s wrong even though he already knows. He can tell. 

The way Jean’s standing there alone, no freckled messenger by his side, Eren can tell something’s wrong. 


End file.
